By  t/ie  Autfior  of  Z/fe 


MACMILLAN'S    STANDARD    LIBRARY 


PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 


PEOPLE    OF    THE 
WHIRLPOOL 


FROM    THE   EXPERIENCE   BOOK   OF 
A   COMMUTER'S   WIFE 


ILLUSTRATED 


COPYRIGHT,  1903, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set   up,   electrotyped,    and   published   April,    1903. 
Reprinted  May,  July,  August,  September.  November,  1903; 
November,  1904  ;  September,  1906  ;  May,  1911. 


NortoooU 

J.  8.  Cuihing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  ft  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  MM*.,  U.S.A. 


EJris  Book  is  for  Utrfjarli  anti  Ian 


2139008 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   I 

FACE 

ON  THE  ADVANTAGE  OF  TWINS i 

CHAPTER   II 
Miss  LAVINIA'S  LETTERS  TO  BARBARA    ....      27 

CHAPTER  III 
MARTIN  CORTRIGHT'S  LETTERS 49 

CHAPTER  IV 
WHEN  BARBARA  GOES  TO  TOWN 71 

CHAPTER  V 
FEBRUARY  VIOLETS 102 

CHAPTER  VI 
ENTER  A  MAN 127 

CHAPTER  VII 
SYLVIA  LATHAM 145 

CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SWEATING  OF  THE  CORN 175 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  IX 

PAGE 

A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 205 

CHAPTER  X 
THE  WHIRL  BEGINS 235 

CHAPTER  XI 
REARRANGED  FAMILIES 265 

CHAPTER  XII 
His  MOTHER 291 

CHAPTER  XIII 

GOSSIP   AND   THE   BUG   HUNTERS 316 

CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  OASIS 338 


The  People  of  the  Whirlpool 


ON   THE   ADVANTAGE   OF   TWINS 

February  2.     Candlemas  and  mild,  gray  weather. 

If  the  woodchuck  stirs  up  his  banked  life-fire  and 
ventures  forth,  he  will  not  see  his  shadow,  and  must 
straightway  arrange  with  winter  for  a  rebate  in  our 
favour.  To-day,  however,  it  seems  like  the  very 
dawn  of  winter,  and  as  if  the  cloud  brooms  were 
abroad  gathering  snow  from  remote  and  chilly  cor- 
ners of  the  sky. 

Six  years  ago  I  began  the  planting  of  my  gar- 
den, and  at  the  same  time  my  girlish  habit  of  jour- 
nal keeping  veered  into  the  making  of  a  "  Garden 
Boke,"  to  be  a  reversible  signal,  crying  danger  in 
face  of  forgotten  mistakes,  then  turning  to  give 
back  glints  of  summer  sunshine  when  read  in  the 
attic  of  winter  days  and  blue  Mondays.  Now  once 
again  I  am  in  the  attic,  writing.  Not  in  a  garden 

B  I 


2     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

diary,  but  in  my  "  Social  Experience  Boke "  this 
time,  for  it  is  "  human  warious,"  and  its  first  vol- 
ume, already  filled  out,  is  lying  in  the  old  desk. 
Martin  Cortright  said,  one  stormy  day  last  autumn 
when  he  was  sitting  in  the  corner  I  have  loaned 
him  of  my  precious  attic  retreat,  that,  owing  to  the 
incursion  of  the  Bluff  Colony  of  New  Yorkers, 
which  we  had  been  discussing,  I  should  call  this 
second  volume  "  People  of  the  Whirlpool,"  because 
—  ah,  but  I  must  wait  and  hunt  among  my  papers 
for  his  very  words  as  I  wrote  them  down. 

My  desk  needs  cleaning  out  and  rearranging,  for 
the  dust  flies  up  as  I  rummage  among  the  papers 
and  letters  that  are  a  blending  of  past,  present, 
and  future.  All  my  pet  pens  are  rusty,  and  must 
be  replaced  from  the  box  of  stubs,  for  a  stub  pen 
assists  one  to  straightforward,  truthful  expression, 
while  a  fine  point  suggests  evasion,  polite  equivoca- 
tion, or  thin  ideas.  Even  Lavinia  Dorman's  letters, 
whose  cream-white  envelopes,  with  a  curlicue  mono- 
gram on  the  flap,  quite  cover  the  litter  below, 
have  been,  if  possible,  more  satisfactory  since  she 
has  adopted  a  fountain  stub  that  Evan  gave  her  at 
Christmas. 

There  are  many  other  things  in  the  desk  now 
beside  the  hickory-nut  beads  and  old  papers.  Little 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL     3 

whiffs  of  subtle  fragrance  call  me  backward  through 
time  faster  than  thought,  and  make  me  pinch  myself 
to  be  sure  that  I  am  awake,  like  the  little  old  woman 
with  the  cutabout  petticoats,  who  was  sure  that  if 
she  was  herself,  her  little  dog  would  know  her, — 
but  then  he  didn't! 

I  am  awake  and  surely  myself,  yet  my  old  dog 
is  not  near  to  recognize  me.  This  ring  of  rough, 
reddish  hair,  tied  with  a  cigar  ribbon  and  lying 
atop  the  beads,  was  Bluff's  best  tail  curl.  Dear, 
happy,  brave-hearted  Bluff  with  the  human  eyes; 
after  an  honourable  life  of  fifteen  years  he  stole  off 
to  the  happy  hunting  grounds  of  perpetual  open 
season,  quail  and  rabbit,  two  years  ago  at  begin- 
ning of  winter,  as  quietly  as  he  used  to  slip  out 
the  back  door  and  away  to  the  fields  on  the  first 
fall  morning  that  brings  the  hunting  fever.  For  a 
long  while  not  only  I,  but  neither  father  nor  Evan 
could  speak  of  him,  it  hurt  so.  Yet  by  a  blessed 
dispensation  a  good  dog  lives  on  in  his  race,  and 
may  be  renewed  (I  prefer  that  word  to  replaced} 
after  a  season,  in  a  way  in  which  our  best  human 
friends  may  not  be,  so  that  we  do  not  lack  dogs. 
Lark  is  senior  now,  and  Timothy  Saunders's  sheep 
dog,  The  Orphan,  is  also  a  veteran;  the  foxhounds 
are  in  their  prime,  while  Martha  Corkle,  as  we 


4    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

shall  always  call  her,  is  raising  a  promising  pair 
of  collie  pups. 

Beside  the  curl,  and  covering  mother's  diaries,  lies 
a  square  white  volume,  the  first  part  of  my  "  Experience 
Boke  "  before  mentioned,  and  upon  it  two  queer  fat 
little  pairs  of  bronze  kid  shoes,  buttonless  and  much 
worn  on  the  toes,  telling  a  tale  of  feet  that  dragged 
and  ankles  that  wobbled  through  inexperience  in 
walking.  Ah  yes !  I'm  quite  awake  and  the  same 
Barbara,  though  looking  over  a  wider  and  eye-open- 
ing horizon,  having  had  three  rows  of  candles,  ten  in 
a  row,  around  my  last  birthday  cake  and  one  extra 
in  the  middle,  which  extravagance  has  constrained  the 
family  to  use  lopsided,  tearful,  pink  candles  ever  since. 

And  the  two  pairs  of  feet  that  first  touched  good 
earth  so  hesitatingly  with  those  crumpled  shoes  are 
now  standing  firmly  in  wool-lined  rubber  boots  topped 
by  brown  corduroy  trousers,  upon  the  winter  slat 
walk  that  leads  to  the  tool  house,  while  their  owners, 
touched  by  the  swish  of  the  Whirlpool  that  has  re- 
cently drawn  this  peaceful  town  into  its  eddies,  are 
busy  trying  to  turn  their  patrol  wagon,  that  for  a  year 
has  led  a  most  conservative  existence  as  a  hay  wain 
and  a  stage-coach  dragged  by  a  curiously  assorted 
team  of  dogs  and  goat,  into  the  semblance  of  some 
weird  sort  of  autocart,  by  the  aid  of  bits  of  old  garden 


THE   PE'OPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     5 

hose,  cast-away  bicycle  gearing,  a  watering-pot,  and 
an  oil  lantern. 

I  have  wondered  for  a  week  past  what  yeast  was 
working  in  their  brains.  Of  course,  the  seven-year- 
old  Vanderveer  boy  on  the  Bluffs  had  an  electric 
runabout  for  a  Christmas  gift,  also  a  man  to  run  it ! 
Corney  Delaney,  as  Evan  named  the  majestic  gray 
goat  —  of  firm  disposition  blended  with  a  keen  sense 
of  humour  —  that  father  gave  the  boys  last  spring  and 
who  has  been  their  best  beloved  ever  since,  has  for 
many  days  been  left  in  duress  with  the  calves  in  the 
stack-yard,  where  the  all-day  diet  of  cornstalks  is 
fatally  bulging  his  once  straight-fronted  figure. 

In  fact,  it  is  the  doings  of  these  two  pairs  of 
precious  feet,  with  the  bodies,  heads,  and  arms 
that  belong  to  them,  that  have  caused  the  dust  to 
gather  in  my  desk,  and  the  "  Garden  Boke,"  though 
not  the  garden,  which  is  more  of  a  joy  than  ever, 
to  be  suspended  and  take  a  different  form.  Flesh- 
and-blood  books  that  write  themselves  are  so  com- 
pelling and  absorbing  that  one  often  wonders  at 
the  existence  of  any  other  kind,  and,  feeling  this 
strongly,  yet  I  turn  to  paper  pages  as  silent  confidants. 
Why  ?  Heredity  and  its  understudy,  Habit,  the  two 
//'s  that  control  both  the  making  of  solitary  tartlets 
as  well  as  family  pies. 


6     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

So  the  last  entry  in  the  "  Garden  Boke  "  was  made 
a  week  before  the  day  recorded  in  the  white  book 
with  the  cherubs'  heads  painted  on  it  that  underlies 
the  shoes. 

It  seems  both  strange  and  significant  to  me  now 
that  this  book  chanced  to  be  given  me  by  Lavinia 
Dorman,  mother's  school  friend  and  bridesmaid,  a 
spinster  of  fifty-five,  and  was  really  the  beginning  of 
the  transfer  of  her  friendship  to  me,  the  only  woman 
friendship  that  I  have  ever  had,  and  its  quality  has 
that  fragrant  pungence  that  comes  from  sweet  herbs, 
that  of  all  garden  odours  are  the  most  lasting. 

I  suppose  that  it  is  one  of  the  strongest  human 
habits  to  write  down  the  very  things  that  one  is  least 
likely  to  forget,  and  vice  versa;  for  certainly  I  shall 
never  forget  the  date  and  double  record  on  that  first 
fair  page  beneath  the  illuminated  word  Born,  —  yet 
I  often  steal  up  here  to  peep  at  it,  —  and  live  the  in- 
tervening five  years  backward  for  pure  joy.  January 
10,  189-,  Richard  Russell and  John  Evan . 

Every  time  I  read  the  names  anew  I  wonder  what 
I  should  have  done  if  there  had  been  a  single  name 
upon  the  page.  I  must  then  have  chosen  between 
naming  him  for  father  or  Evan  —  an  impossibility ; 
for  even  if  the  names  had  been  combined,  whose 
should  I  have  put  first  ? 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL    7 

No,  the  twins  are  in  every  way  an  advantage.  To 
Evan,  in  providing  him  at  once  with  a  commuted  fam- 
ily sufficient  for  his  means ;  to  father,  among  other 
reasons,  by  giving  him  the  pleasure  of  saying,  to 
friends  who  felt  it  necessary  to  visit  him  in  the  pri- 
vacy of  his  study  and  be  apologetically  sympathetic, 
"  I  have  observed  that  the  first  editions  of  very  impor- 
tant books  are  frequently  in  two  volumes,"  sending 
them  away  wondering  what  he  really  meant ;  to  me 
by  saving  the  rack  of  argument,  the  form  of  evil  I 
most  detest,  and  to  their  own  chubby  selves  no  less, 
in  that  neither  one  has  been  handicapped  for  a  single 
day  by  the  disadvantage  of  being  an  only  child ! 

It  doubtless  seems  very  odd  for  me  to  feel  this  last 
to  be  a  disadvantage,  being  myself  an  only  child,  and 
always  a  happy  one,  sharing  with  mother  all  the 
space  in  father's  big  heart.  But  this  is  because  God 
has  been  very  good  to  me,  leaving  me  safe  in  the 
shelter  of  the  home  nest.  Suppose  it  had  been 
otherwise  and  I  had  been  forced  to  face  the  world, 
how  it  would  have  hurt,  for  individual  love  is  cruelly 
precious  sometimes,  and  an  "  onliest "  cannot  in  the 
very  nature  of  things  be  as  unselfish  and  adaptable 
as  one  of  many. 

I  was  selfish  even  when  the  twins  came.  I  was  so 
glad  that  they  were  men-children.  I  could  not  bear 


8     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

to  think  of  other  woman  hands  ministering  to  father 
and  Evan,  and  I  rejoiced  in  the  promise  of  two  more 
champions. 

I  often  wonder  how  mother  felt  when  I  was  born 
and  what  she  thought  Was  she  glad  or  disappointed  ? 
I  wish  that  she  had  left  written  words  to  guide  me,  if 
ever  so  few,  —  they  would  mean  so  much  now;  and 
let  me  know  if  in  her  day  social  things  surprised  and 
troubled  her  as  for  the  first  time  they  now  stir  me, 
and  therefore  belong  to  all  awakening  motherhood. 
Her  diaries  were  a  blending  of  simple  household  hap- 
penings and  garden  lore,  nothing  more ;  for  when  I 
was  five  years  old  and  her  son  came,  he  stayed  but  a 
few  short  hours  and  then  stole  her  away  with  him. 

I  wonder  if  my  boys,  when  they  are  grown  and 
begin  to  realize  woman,  will  care  to  look  into  this 
book  of  mine,  and  read  in  and  between  the  lines  of 
its  jumble  of  scraps  and  letters  what  their  mother 
thought  of  them,  and  how  things  appeared  to  her  in 
the  days  of  their  babyhood.  Perhaps ;  who  knows  ? 
At  present,  being  but  five  years  old,  they  are  cen- 
tred in  whatever  thing  the  particular  day  brings 
forth,  and  but  that  they  are  leashed  fast  by  an 
almost  prenatal  and  unconscious  affection,  they  are 
as  unlike  in  disposition,  temperament,  and  colour- 
ing as  they  are  alike  in  feature.  Richard  is  dark, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     9 

like  father  and  me,  very  quiet,  except  in  the  matter 
of  affection,  in  which  he  is  clingingly  demonstrative, 
slow  to  receive  impressions,  but  withal  tenacious. 
He  clearly  inherits  father's  medical  instinct  of  pre- 
serving life,  and  the  very  thought  of  suffering  on 
the  part  of  man  or  beast  arouses  him  to  action. 
When  he  was  only  a  little  over  three  years  old,  I 
found  him  carefully  mending  some  windfall  robins' 
eggs,  cracked  by  their  tumble,  with  bits  of  rubber 
sticking-plaster,  then  putting  them  hopefully  back 
into  the  nest,  with  an  admonition  to  the  anxious 
parents  to  "sit  very  still  and  don't  stwatch."  While 
last  summer  he  unfortunately  saw  a  chicken  decapi- 
tated over  at  the  farm  barn,  and,  in  Martha  Corkle's 
language,  "  the  way  he  wound  a  bit  o'  paper  round 
its  poor  neck  to  stop  its  bleedin'  went  straight  to 
my  stummick,  so  it  did,  Mrs.  Evan ; "  for  be  it 
said  here  that  Martha  has  fulfilled  my  wildest  ex- 
pectations, and  whereas,  as  queen  of  the  kitchen, 
she  was  a  trifle  unexpected  and  uncomfortable,  as 
Mrs.  Timothy  Saunders,  now  comfortably  settled  in 
the  new  cottage  above  the  stable  at  the  north  corner 
of  the  hayland,  she  is  a  veritable  guardian  angel, 
ready  to  swoop  down  with  strong  wings  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  in  sickness  or  health,  day  or  night, 
and  seize  the  nursery  helm. 


io     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

It  is  owing  to  her  that  I  have  never  been  obliged 
to  have  a  nursemaid  under  my  feet  or  tagging  after 
the  boys,  to  the  ruin  of  their  independence.  For 
the  first  few  years  Effie,  whose  fiery  locks  have  not 
yet  found  their  affinity,  helped  me,  but  now  merely 
sees  to  buttons,  strings,  and  darns. 

I  found  out  long  ago  that  those  who  get  the 
best  return  from  their  flower  gardens  were  those 
who  kept  no  gardeners,  and  it  is  the  same  way 
with  the  child  garden ;  those  who  are  too  over- 
busy,  irresponsible,  ignorant,  or  rich  to  do  without 
the  orthodox  nurse,  never  can  know  precisely  what 
they  lose.  To  watch  a  baby  untrammelled  with 
clothes,  dimple,  glow,  and  expand  in  its  bath,  is  in 
an  intense  personal  degree  like  watching,  early  of 
a  June  morning,  the  first  opening  bud  of  a  rose 
that  you  have  coaxed  and  raised  from  a  mere  cut- 
ting. You  hoped  and  believed  that  it  would  be 
fair  and  beautiful,  but  ah,  what  a  glorious  surprise 
it  is! 

And  so  it  is  at  the  other  end  of  day,  when  sleep 
comes  over  the  garden  and  all  the  flowers  that  have 
been  basking  in  sun  vigour  relax  and  their  colours 
are  subdued,  blended  by  the  brush  of  darkness,  and 
the  night  wind  steals  new  perfumes  from  them,  and 
wings  of  all  but  a  few  night  birds  have  ceased  to 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL     n 

cleave  the  air.  As  you  walk  among  the  flowers  and 
touch  them,  or  throw  back  the  casement  and  look 
out,  you  read  new  meanings  everywhere.  In  the 
white  cribs  in  the  alcove  the  same  change  comes, 
bright  eyes,  hair,  cheeks,  and  lips  lie  blended  in  the 
shadow,  the  only  sound  is  the  even  breath  of  night, 
and  when  you  press  your  lips  behind  the  ear  where 
a  curl  curves  and  neck  and  garments  meet,  there 
comes  a  little  fragrance  born  of  sweet  flesh  and  new 
flannel,  and  the  only  motion  is  that  of  the  half-open 
hand  that  seems  to  recognize  and  closes  about  your 
fingers  as  a  vine  to  its  trellis,  or  as  a  sleeping  bird 
clings  to  its  perch. 

A  gardener  or  a  nurse  is  equally  a  door  between 
one  and  these  silent  pleasures,  for  who  would  not 
steal  up  now  and  then  from  a  troubled  dream  to 
satisfy  with  sight  and  touch  that  the  babes  are 
really  there  and  all  is  well? 

*»***#* 

Richard  has  a  clinging  way  even  in  sleep,  and 
his  speech,  though  very  direct  for  his  age,  is  soft 
and  cooing;  he  says  "mother"  in  a  lingering  tone 
that  might  belong  to  a  girl,  and  there  are  what 
are  called  feminine  traits  in  him. 

Ian  (to  save  confusion,  we  called  him  from  the 
first  by  the  pretty  Scotch  equivalent  of  Evan's  first 


12     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

name)  is  of  a  wholly  masculine  mould,  and  like  his 
father  in  light  hair,  gray  eyes,  and  determination. 
His  very  speech  is  quick  and  staccato,  his  tendency 
is  to  overcome,  to  fight  rather  than  assuage,  though 
he  is  the  champion  of  everything  he  loves.  From 
the  time  he  could  form  distinct  sounds  he  has  called 
me  Barbara,  and  no  amount  of  reasoning  will  make 
him  do  otherwise,  while  the  imitation  of  his  father's 
pronunciation  of  the  word  goes  to  my  heart. 

Recently,  now  that  he  is  fully  able  to  comprehend, 
Evan  took  him  quietly  on  his  knee  and  told  him  that 
he  must  say  "  mother  "  and  that  he  was  not  respectful 
to  me.  He  thought  a  few  minutes,  as  if  reasoning 
with  himself,  and  then  the  big  gray  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  a  very  rare  occurrence,  as  he  seemed  to  feel 
that  he  could  not  yield,  and  he  said,  trying  very 
hard  to  steady  his  voice,  "  Fawer,  I  truly  can't,  I 
think  it  muwer  inside,  but  you  and  I,  we  must  say  it 
Barbara,"  and  I  confess  that  my  heart  leaped  with 
joy,  and  I  begged  Evan  to  let  the  matter  end  here. 
To  be  called,  if  it  so  may  be,  by  one  name  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  of  life  by  the  only  true  lovers 
that  can  never  be  rivals,  is  bliss  enough  for  any 
woman. 

Equally  resolved,  but  in  a  thing  of  minor  impor- 
tance, is  Ian  about  his  headgear.  As  a  baby  of  three, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     13 

when  he  first  tasted  the  liberty  of  going  out  of  gar- 
den bounds  daily  into  the  daisy  field  beyond  the 
wild  walk,  while  Richard  clung  to  his  protecting 
baby  sunbonnet,  Ian  spurned  head  covering  of  any 
kind,  and  blinked  away  at  the  sun  through  his 
tangled  curls  whenever  he  had  the  chance,  in  primi- 
tive directness  until  his  cheeks  glowed  like  burnished 
copper;  and  his  present  compromise  is  a  little  cap 
worn  visor  backward. 

When  the  twins  were  very  young,  people  were 
most  funny  in  the  way  in  which  they  seemed  to  think 
it  necessary  to  feel  carefully  about  to  make  sure 
whether  condolence  or  congratulations  were  in  order. 
The  Severely  Protestant  was  greatly  agitated,  as,  be- 
ing himself  the  possessor  of  an  overflowing  quiverful, 
his  position  was  difficult.  After  making  sure  which 
was  the  right  side  of  the  fence,  and  placing  himself 
on  it,  he  tugged  painfully  at  his  starved  red  beard,  and 
made  an  elaborate  address  ending  in  a  parallel,  —  the 
idea  of  the  complete  Bible  being  in  two  volumes,  the 
Old  and  New  Testament,  each  being  so  necessary 
to  the  other,  and  so  inseparable,  that  they  were  only 
comparable  to  twins  ! 

Father  and  Evan  were  present  at  the  time,  —  I 
dared  not  look  at  either,  —  and  as  soon  as  we  were 
again  alone,  the  room  shook  with  laughter,  until  Mar- 


14    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

tha  Corkle,  who  was  then  in  temporary  residence, 
popped  in  to  be  sure  that  I  was  not  being  unduly 
agitated. 

"  The  Old  and  New  Testament,  I  wonder  which  is 
which  ? "  gasped  father,  going  upstairs  to  look  at  the 
uninteresting  if  promising  woolly  bundles  by  light  of 
this  startling  suggestion. 

Now,  however,  the  joke  has  developed  a  serious 
side,  as  their  two  characters,  though  in  no  wise  pre- 
cocious, have  become  distinctive.  Ian  represents  the 
Old,  primitive  and  direct,  the  "  sword  of  the  Lord  and 
Gideon  "  type,  while  Richard  is  the  New,  the  recon- 
ciler and  peacemaker. 

******* 

The  various  congratulations  that  the  twins  were 
boys,  from  my  standpoint  I  took  as  a  matter  of 
course,  even  though  I  had  always  heard  that  boys 
gave  the  most  worry  and  girls  were  referred  to  among 
our  friends  and  neighbours  as  the  greatest  comforts 
in  a  home  unless  they  did  something  decidedly  un- 
usual, fitting  into  nooks,  and  often  taking  up  and 
bearing  burdens  the  brothers  left  behind.  But  when 
many  people  who  had  either  daughters  or  nieces  of 
their  own,  and  might  be  said  to  be  in  that  mystic  ring 
called  "  Society,"  congratulated  me  pointedly  about 
the  boys,  I  began  to  ponder  about  the  matter  mother- 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     15 

wise.  Then,  three  years  ago  the  New  York  Colony 
seized  upon  the  broad  acres  along  the  Bluffs,  and 
dotted  two  miles  with  the  elaborate  stone  and  brick 
houses  they  call  cottages ;  not  for  permanent  summer 
homes  (the  very  rich,  the  spenders,  have  no  homes), 
but  merely  hotels  in  series.  These,  for  the  spring 
and  fall  between  seasons  and  week-end  parties  and 
golfing,  men  and  girls  gay  in  red  and  green  coats, 
replaced  the  wild  flowers  in  the  shorn  outlying  fields. 
I  watched  these  girls,  and,  beginning  to  understand, 
wondered  if  I  had  grown  old  before  my  time,  or  if  I 
were  too  young  to  comprehend  their  point  of  view, 
for,  to  their  strange  enlightenment  I  was  practically 
as  yet  unborn. 

Lavinia  Dorman  says  caustically  that  I  really  be- 
long with  her  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  and 
she,  born  to  what  father  says  was  really  the  best  so- 
ciety and  privilege  of  New  York  life,  like  his  college 
chum  Martin  Cortright,  is  now  swept  quite  aside  by 
the  swirl. 

"Yes,  dear  child,"  she  insists  (how  different  this 
use  of  the  word  sounds  from  when  the  Lady  of  the 
Bluffs  uses  the  universal  "my  dear"  impartially  to 
mistress  and  maid,  shopgirl  and  guest),  "you  not 
only  belong  to  the  last  century,  but  as  far  back  in  it 
as  myself,  and  I  am  fifty-five,  full  measure. 


16    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  The  new  idea  among  the  richer  and  consequently 
more  privileged  classes  is,  that  girls  are  to  be  fitted 
not  only  to  go  out  into  the  world  and  shine  in  differ- 
ent ways  unknown  to  their  grandmothers,  but  to  be 
superior  to  home,  which  of  necessity  unfits  them  for 
a  return  trip  if  the  excursion  is  unsuccessful. 

"  What  with  high  ideas,  high  rents,  and  higher  edu- 
cation, the  home  myth  is  speedily  following  Santa 
Claus  out  of  female  education,  and,  argue  as  one 
may,  New  York  is  the  social  pace-maker  '  East  of  the 
Rockies,'  as  the  free  delivery  furniture  companies 
advertise.  I  congratulate  you  anew  that  the  twins 
are  boys! " 

I  laughed  to  myself  over  Miss  Lavinia's  letter;  she 
is  always  so  deliciously  in  earnest  and  so  perturbed 
over  any  change  in  the  social  ways  of  her  dearly  be- 
loved New  York,  that  I'm  wondering  how  she  finds 
it,  on  her  return  after  two  years  or  more  abroad  (she 
was  becoming  agitated  before  she  left),  and  whether 
she  will  ask  me  down  for  another  of  those  quaint 
little  visits,  where  she  so  faithfully  tours  me  through 
the  shops  and  a  few  select  teas,  when,  to  wind  it  up, 
Evan  buys  opera  box  seats  so  that  she  may  have  the 
satisfaction  of  having  her  hair  dressed,  wearing  her 
point  lace  bertha  and  aigret,  and  showing  us  who  is 
who,  and  the  remainder  who  are  not.  For  she  is  well 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     17 

born,  intricately  related  to  the  original  weavers  of  the 
social  cobweb, and  knows  every  one  by  name  and  sight; 
but  has  found  lately,  I  judge,  that  this  knowledge  un- 
backed by  money  is  no  longer  a  social  power  that 
carries  beyond  mixed  tea  and  charity  entertainments. 
Never  mind,  Lavinia  Dorman  is  a  dear !  Ah,  if  she 
would  only  come  out  here,  and  return  my  many  little 
visits  by  a  long  stay,  and  act  as  a  key  to  the  riddle 
the  Whirlpool  people  are  to  me.  But  of  course  she 
will  not ;  for  she  frankly  detests  the  country,  —  that 
is,  except  Newport  and  Staten  Island,  —  is  wedded 
even  in  summer  to  her  trim  back-yard  that  looks  like 
a  picture  in  a  seed  catalogue,  and,  like  a  faithful 
spouse,  declines  to  leave  it  or  Josephus  for  more  than 
a  few  days.  Josephus  is  a  large,  sleek,  black  cat,  a 
fence-top  sphinx,  who  sits  all  day  in  summer  wear- 
ing a  silver  collar,  watching  the  sparrows  and  the 
neighbourhood's  wash  with  impartial  interest,  while 
at  night  he  goes  on  excursions  of  his  own  to  a  stable 
down  a  crooked  street  in  "  Greenwich  Village,"  where 
they  still  keep  pigeons.  Some  day  he  won't  come 
back ! 

Yet  Martin  Cortright,  the  Bookworm,  was  a  pave- 
ment worshipper  too,  and  he  came  last  fall  for  over  a 
Sunday  to  wake  father  up ;  for  I  believe  men  some- 
times need  the  society  of  others  of  their  own  age  and 


i8    THE  PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

past,  as  much  as  children  need  childlife,  and  Mar- 
tin stayed  a  month,  and  is  promising  to  return  next 
spring. 

I  wonder  if  the  Sylvia  Latham  who  has  been 
travelling  with  Miss  Lavinia  is  any  kin  of  the 
Lathams  who  are  building  the  great  colonial  home 
above  the  Jenks-Smiths.  I  have  never  seen  any  of 
the  family  except  Mrs.  Latham,  a  tall,  colourless 
blonde,  who  reminds  one  of  a  handsome  unlit  lamp. 
She  seems  to  be  superintending  the  work  by  coming 
up  now  and  then,  and  I  met  her  at  the  butcher's 
where  she  was  buying  sweetbreads  —  "a  trifle  for 
luncheon."  Accusation  No.  I,  against  the  Whirl- 
poolers  :  Since  their  advent  sweetbreads  have  risen 
from  two  pairs  for  a  quarter,  and  "  thank  you  kindly 
for  taking  them  off  our  hands,"  to  fifty  cents  to  a 
dollar  a  "  set."  We  no  longer  care  for  sweetbreads ! 
******* 

I  was  therefore  amused,  but  no  longer  surprised, 
at  the  exaggerated  way  in  which  the  childless  Lady 
of  the  Bluffs,  —  her  step-daughter  having  ten  years 
back  made  a  foolish  foreign  marriage,  —  gave  me  her 
views  upon  the  drawbacks  of  the  daughters  of  her 
world,  when  she  made  me,  on  her  return  from  a 
European  trip,  a  visit  upon  the  twins'  first  birthday, — 
bearing,  with  her  usually  reckless  generosity,  a  pair 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     19 

of  costly  gold  apostle  spoons,  as  she  said,  "to  cut 
their  teeth  on."  I  admired,  but  frugally  popped 
them  into  the  applewood  treasure  chests  that  father 
has  had  made  for  the  boys  from  the  "  mother  tree," 
that  was  finally  laid  low  by  a  tornado  the  winter 
of  their  birth  and  is  now  succeeded  by  a  younger 
one  of  Richard's  choice. 

"  My  dear  woman,"  she  gasped,  turning  my  face 
toward  the  light  and  dropping  into  a  chair  at  the 
same  time,  "  how  well  you  look ;  not  a  bit  upset  by 
the  double  dose  and  sitting  up  nights  and  all  that. 
But  then,  maybe,  they  sleep  and  you  haven't;  for 
it's  always  the  unexpected  and  unusual  that  happens 
in  your  case,  as  this  proves.  But  then,  they  are 
boys,  and  that's  everything  nowadays,  the  way 
society's  going,  especially  to  people  like  you,  whose 
husband's  trade,  though  pretty,  is  too  open  and 
above-board  to  be  a  well-paying  one,  and  yet  you're 
thoroughbreds  underneath."  (Poor  vulgar  soul,  she 
didn't  in  the  least  realize  how  I  might  take  her 
stricture  any  more  than  she  saw  my  desire  to 
laugh.) 

"  Of  course  here  and  there  a  girl  in  society  does 
turn  out  well  and  rides  an  elephant  or  a  coronet,  — 
of  course  I  mean  wears  a  coronet,  —  though  ten  to 
one  it  jams  the  hairpins  into  her  head,  but  mostly 


20     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

daughters  are  regular  hornets,  —  that  is,  if  you're 
ambitious  and  mean  to  keep  in  society.  Of  course 
you're  not  in  it,  and,  being  comfortably  poor,  so  to 
speak,  might  be  content  to  see  your  girls  marry 
their  best  chance,  even  if  it  wasn't  worth  much  a 
year,  and  settle  down  to  babies  and  minding  their 
own  business ;  but  then  they  mightn't  agree  to  that, 
and  where  would  you  and  Evan  be  ? 

"  This  nice  old  house  and  garden  of  yours  wouldn't 
hold  'em  after  they  got  through  with  dolls,  and  some 
girls  don't  even  have  any  doll-days  now.  It  would 
be  town  and  travel  and  change,  and  you  haven't  got 
the  price  of  that  between  you  all,  and  to  keep  this 
going,  too.  You'd  have  to  go  to  N'York,  for  a 
couple  of  months  at  least,  to  a  hotel,  and  what  would 
that  Evan  of  yours  do  trailing  round  to  dances  ?  For 
you're  not  built  for  it,  though  I  did  once  think  you'd 
be  a  go  in  society  with  that  innocent-wise  way,  and 
your  nose  in  the  air,  when  you  don't  like  people, 
would  pass  for  family  pride.  I'd  wager  soon,  in  a 
few  years,  he'd  stop  picking  boutonnieres  in  the  gar- 
den every  morning  and  sailing  down  to  that  8:15 
train  as  cool  as  if  he  owned  time,  if  those  boys 
were  girls  !  Though  if  Jenks-Smith  gets  the  Bluff 
Colony  he's  planned  under  way  next  spring,  there'll 
soon  be  some  riding  and  golfing  men  hereabouts  that'll 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     21 

shake  things  up  a  bit,  —  bridge  whist,  poker,  and 
perhaps  red  and  black  to  help  out  in  the  between- 
seasons."  (I  little  thought  then  what  this  colony 
and  shaking  would  come  to  mean.) 

"  Money  or  not,  it's  hard  lines  with  daughters 
now  —  work  and  poor  pay  for  the  mothers  mostly. 
You  know  that  Mrs.  Townley  that  used  to  visit 
me  ?  He  was  a  banker  and  very  rich ;  died  four 
years  ago,  and  left  his  wife  with  one  son,  who 
lived  west,  and  five  daughters,  four  that  travelled 
in  pairs  and  an  odd  one,  —  all  well  fixed  and  living 
in  a  big  house  in  one  of  those  swell  streets,  east  of 
the  park,  where  never  less  than  ten  in  help  are  kept. 
Well,  if  you'll  believe  it,  she's  living  alone  with  a 
pet  dog  and  a  companion,  except  in  summer,  when 
the  Chicago  son  and  his  wife  and  babies  make  her 
a  good  visit  down  at  North  East,  the  only  home 
comfort  she  has. 

"All  the  girls  married  to  foreigners?  Not  a 
blessed  one.  Two  were  bookish  and  called  literary, 
but  not  enough  to  break  out  into  anything;  they 
didn't  agree  with  society  (had  impossible  foreheads 
that  ran  nearly  back  to  their  necks,  and  thin  hair); 
they  went  to  college  just  to  get  the  name  of  it 
and  to  kill  time,  but  when  they  got  through  they 
didn't  rub  along  well  at  home;  called  taking  an 


22     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

interest  in  the  house  beneath  them  and  the  pair 
that  liked  society  frivolous ;  so  they  took  a  flat  (I 
mean  apartment — a  flat  is  when  it's  less  than  a 
hundred  a  month  and  only  has  one  bathroom),  and 
set  up  for  bachelor  girls.  The  younger  pair  did 
society  for  a  while,  and  poor  Mrs.  Townley  chap- 
eroned round  after  them,  as  befitted  her  duty  and 
position,  and  had  gorgeous  Worth  gowns,  all  lace 
and  jets,  that  I  do  believe  shortened  her  breath,  until 
one  night  in  a  slippery  music-room  she  walked  up 
the  back  of  a  polar  bear  rug,  fell  off  his  head,  and 
had  an  awful  coast  on  the  floor,  that  racked  her 
knee  so  that  she  could  stay  at  home  without  causing 
remark,  which  she  cheerfully  did.  The  two  youngest 
girls  were  pretty,  but  they  were  snobs,  and  carried 
their  money  on  their  sleeves  in  such  plain  sight 
that  they  were  too  suspicious,  and  seemed  to  expect 
every  man  that  said  '  good  evening '  was  waiting  to 
grab  it.  So  they  weren't  popular,  and  started  off 
for  Europe  to  study  art  and  music.  Of  course  when 
they  came  back  they  had  a  lot  of  lingo  about  the 
art  atmosphere  and  all  that ;  home  was  a  misfit  and 
impossible,  so  they  went  to  live  in  a  swell  studio 
with  two  maids  and  a  Jap  butler  in  costume,  and 
do  really  give  bang-up  musicals,  with  paid  talent 
of  course.  I  went  to  one. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     23 

"That  left  Georgie,  the  odd  one,  who  was  the 
eldest,  with  poor  Mrs.  Townley.  By  this  time  the 
old  lady  was  kind  of  broken-spirited,  and  worried  a 
good  deal  as  to  why  all  her  girls  left  her,  —  '  she'd 
always  tried  to  do  her  duty,'  —  and  all  that.  This 
discouraged  Georgie ;  she  got  blue  and  nervous,  had 
indigestion,  and,  mistaking  it  for  religion,  vamoosed 
into  a  high-church  retreat.  And  I  call  it  mighty 
hard  lines  for  the  old  lady." 

I  thought  "too  much  money,"  but  I  didn't  say 
it,  for  this  brutally  direct  but  well-meaning  woman 
could  not  imagine  such  a  thing,  and  she  continued : 
"Yet  Mrs.  Townley  had  a  soft  snap  compared  to 
some,  for  she  was  in  the  right  set  at  the  start,  with 
both  feet  well  up  on  the  ladder,  and  didn't  have  to 
climb ;  but  Heaven  help  those  with  daughters  who 
have  thin  purses  and  have  to  stretch  a  long  neck 
and  keep  it  stiff,  so,  in  a  crowd  at  least,  nobody'll 
notice  their  feet  are  dangling  and  haven't  any 
hold. 

"  Ah,  but  this  isn't  the  worst  yet ;  that's  the  clever 
*  new  daughter '  kind  that  sticks  by  her  ma,  who  was 
herself  once  a  particular  housekeeper,  and  takes 
charge  of  her  long  before  there's  any  need;  regu- 
lates her  clothes  and  her  food  and  her  callers, 
drags  her  around  Europe  to  rheumatism  doctors, 


24    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

and  pushes  her  into  mud  baths ;  jerks  her  south 
in  winter  and  north  in  summer,  for  her  '  health 
and  amusement,'  so  she  needn't  grow  narrow,  when 
all  the  poor  soul  needs  and  asks  is  to  be  let  stay 
in  her  nice  old-fashioned  country  house,  and  have 
the  village  children  in  to  make  flannel  petticoats ; 
entertain  the  bishop  when  he  comes  to  confirm, 
with  a  clerical  dinner  the  same  as  she  used  to ; 
spoil  a  lot  of  grandchildren,  of  which  there  aren't 
any ;  and  once  in  a  while  to  be  allowed  to  go  into 
the  pantry  between  meals,  when  the  butler  isn't 
looking,  and  eat  something  out  of  the  refrigerator 
with  her  fingers  to  make  sure  she's  got  them ! 

"  No,  my  dear,  rather  than  that,  I  choose  the 
lap  dog  and  poor  relation,  who  is  generally  too 
dejected  to  object  to  anything.  Besides,  lap  dogs 
are  much  better  now  than  in  the  days  when  the 
choice  lay  only  between  sore-eyed  white  poodles 
and  pugs.  Boston  bulls  are  such  darlings  that 
for  companions  they  beat  half  the  people  one 
knows  !  " 

I  am  doubly  glad  that  the  twins  are  boys !  Well, 
so  be  it,  for  women  do  often  frighten  me  and  I 
misunderstand  them,  but  men  are  so  easy  to  com- 
prehend and  love.  While  now,  when  Richard  and 
Ian  puzzle  me,  all  I  need  to  do  is  to  point  to  father 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     25 

and  Evan,  and  say,  "  Look !  ask  them,  for  they 
can  tell  you  all  you  need  to  know ! " 

******* 

Almost  sunset,  the  boys  climbing  up  stairs,  and 
Effie  bringing  a  letter?  Yes,  and  from  Lavinia 
Dorman,  pages  and  pages  —  the  dear  soul !  I  must 
wait  for  a  light.  What  is  this  ?  —  she  wishes  to  see 
me  —  will  make  me  a  long  visit  —  in  May  —  if  I 
like  —  has  no  longer  the  conscience  to  ask  me  to 
leave  the  twins  to  come  to  her  —  boys  of  their  age 
need  so  much  care  —  then  something  about  Jose- 
phus !  Yes,  Sylvia  Latham  is  the  daughter  of  the 
new  house  on  the  Bluffs,  etc.  You  blessed  twins ! 
here  is  another  advantage  I  owe  to  you  —  at  last 
a  promised  visit  from  Lavinia  Dorman ! 

Ah,  as  I  push  my  book  into  the  desk  the  reason 
for  its  title  turns  up  before  me,  worded  in  Martin 
Cortright's  precise  language  :  — 

"  Everything,  my  dear  Barbara,  has  a  precedent 
in  history  or  the  basis  of  it.  It  is  well  known  that 
the  Indian  tribes  have  taken  their  distinctive  names 
chiefly  from  geographical  features,  and  these  often 
in  turn  control  the  pace  of  the  people.  The  name 
for  the  island  since  called  New  Amsterdam  and  York 
was  Mon-ah-tan-uk,  a  phrase  descriptive  of  the  rush- 
ing waters  of  Hell  Gate  that  separated  them  from 


26     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

their  Long  Island  neighbours,  the  inhabitants  them- 
selves being  called  by  these  neighbours  Mon-ah-tans, 
anglice  Manhattans,  literally,  People  of  the  Whirlpool, 
a  title  which,  even  though  the  termagant  humour  of 
the  waters  be  abated,  it  beseems  me  as  aptly  fits 
them  at  this  day." 


II 

MISS   LAVINIA'S    LETTERS   TO    BARBARA 

NEW  YORK,  "GREENWICH  VILLAGE," 

January  20,  19 — . 

"  So  you  are  glad  that  I  have  returned  ?  I  wish 
that  I  could  say  so  also,  in  your  hearty  tone  of  con- 
viction. Every  day  of  the  two  years  that  I  have  been 
scattering  myself  about  Europe  I  have  wished  myself 
at  home  in  the  house  where  I  was  born,  and  have 
wandered  through  the  rooms  in  my  dreams ;  yet  now 
that  I  am  here,  I  find  that  I  was  mixing  the  past 
impossibly  with  the  present,  in  a  way  common  to 
those  over  fifty.  Yes,  you  see  I  no  longer  pretend, 
wear  unsuitable  headgear,  and  blink  obliviously  at 
my  age  as  I  did  in  those  trying  later  forties.  I  not 
only  face  it  squarely,  but  exaggerate  it,  for  it  is  so 
much  more  comfortable  to  have  people  say  'Fifty- 
five  !  Is  it  possible  ? ' 

"  By  the  way,  do  you  know  that  you  and  I  share  a 
distinction  in  common  ?  We  are  both  living  in  the 

27 


28    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

houses  where  we  were  born,  for  the  reason  that  we 
wish  to  and  not  because  we  cannot  help  ourselves. 
Since  I  have  been  away  it  appears  that  every  one  I 
know,  of  my  own  age,  has  made  a  change  of  some 
sort,  and  joined  the  two  streams  that  are  flowing 
steadily  upward,  east  and  west  of  the  Park;  while 
the  people  who  were  neither  my  financial  nor  social 
equals  thirty  years  ago  are  dividing  the  year  into 
quarters,  with  a  house  for  each.  A  few  months  in 
town,  a  few  of  hotel  life  for  'rest'  in  the  south, 
then  a  '  between-season '  residence  near  by,  seaside 
next,  mountains  in  early  autumn,  and  the  'between- 
season'  again  before  the  winter  cruise  through  the 
Whirlpool. 

"I  like  that  name  that  your  Martin  Cortright 
gives  to  New  York.  Before  I  went  abroad  I  should 
have  resented  it  bitterly,  but  the  two  months  since 
my  return  have  convinced  me  of  its  truth,  which  I 
have  fought  against  for  many  years;  for  even  the 
most  staid  of  us  who,  either  of  choice  or  necessity, 
give  the  social  vortex  a  wide  berth,  cannot  escape 
from  the  unrest  of  it,  or  sight  of  the  wreckage  it 
from  time  to  time  gives  forth.  It  is  strange  that  I 
have  not  met  this  Cortright,  or  never  even  knew  that 
he  shared  your  father's  admiration  of  your  mother, 
though  owing  to  our  school  tie  we  were  like  sisters. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    29 

Yet  it  was  like  her  to  regret  and  hold  sacred  any  pain 
she  might  have  caused,  no  matter  how  unwillingly. 
Did  his  elder  sister  marry  a  Schuyler,  though  not  one 
of  the  well-known  branch,  and  did  he  as  a  boy  live 
in  one  of  those  houses  on  the  west  side  of  Lafayette 
Place  that  were  later  turned  into  an  hotel? 

"The  worst  of  it  all  appears  to  me  to  be  that  the 
increase  of  wealth  in  the  upper  class  is  exterminating 
the  home  idea,  to  which  I  cling,  single  woman  as  I 
am ;  and  consequently  the  middle  classes,  as  blind 
copyists,  also  are  tending  to  throw  it  over. 

"  The  rich,  having  no  particular  reason  for  remain- 
ing in  any  particular  place  until  they  become  attached 
to  it,  live  in  half  a  dozen  houses,  which  seems  to  have 
a  deteriorating  effect  upon  their  domesticity;  just  as 
the  Sultan,  with  fifty  wives  that  may  be  dropped 
or  replaced  according  to  will,  cannot  prize  them  as 
does  the  husband  of  only  one. 

"  Your  letters  are  so  full  of  questions  and  wonder- 
ments about  ways  in  your  mother's  day,  that  they  set 
me  rambling  in  the  backwoods  of  the  sixties,  when 
women  were  sending  their  lovers  to  the  Civil  War,  and 
then  bravely  sitting  down  and  rolling  their  own  hearts 
up  with  the  bandages  with  which  they  busied  their 
fingers.  I  suppose  you  are  wondering  if  I  lost  a 
lover  in  those  days,  or  why  I  have  not  married,  as 


30    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

I  am  in  no  wise  opposed  to  the  institution,  but  con- 
sider it  quite  necessary  to  happiness.  The  truth  is, 
I  never  saw  but  two  men  whose  tastes  so  harmonized 
with  mine  that  I  considered  them  possible  as  compan- 
ions, and  when  I  first  met  them  neither  was  eligible, 
one  being  my  own  father  and  the  other  yours !  I 
shall  have  to  list  your  queries,  to  be  answered  delib- 
erately, write  my  letters  in  sections,  day  by  day, 
and  send  them  off  packet-wise,  like  the  correspon- 
dence of  the  time  of  two-shilling  post  and  hand  mes- 
sengers. To  begin  with,  I  will  pick  out  the  three 
easiest :  — 

1.  What  is  it  in  particular  that  has  so  upset  me  on 

my  home-coming  ? 

2.  Do  I  think  that  I  could  break  through  my  habits 

sufficiently  to  make  you  a  real  country  visit 
this  spring  or  early  summer,  before  the  mos- 
quitoes come?  (Confessing  with  your  alto- 
gether out-of-date  frankness  that  there  are 
mosquitoes,  a  word  usually  dropped  from  the 
vocabulary  of  commuters  and  their  wives, 
even  though  they  live  in  Staten  Island  or 
New  Jersey.) 

3.  Is  the   Sylvia   Latham,   to   whom    I   have   been 

a  friendly  chaperon  during  my  recent  travels, 
related  to  the  Lathams  who  are  building  the 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL    31 

finest  house  on  the  Bluffs  ?  You  have  never 
seen  the  head  of  the  house,  but  his  initials 
are  S.  J. ;  he  is  said  to  be  a  power  in  Wall 
Street,  and  the  family  consists  of  a  son  and 
daughter,  neither  of  whom  has  yet  appeared, 
although  the  house  is  quite  ready  for  occu- 
pancy. 
(My  German  teacher  has  arrived.) 


"January  22d. 

"  i.  Why  am  I  upset?  For  several  reasons,  some 
of  which  have  been  clouding  the  horizon  for  many 
years,  others  crashing  up  like  a  thunder-storm. 

"I  have  for  a  long  time  past  noticed  a  certain 
apathy  in  the  social  atmosphere  of  the  little  circle 
that  formed  my  world.  I  gave  up  any  pretensions  to 
general  New  York  society  after  my  father's  death, 
which  came  at  a  time  when  the  social  centre  was 
splitting  into  several  cliques;  distances  increased,  New 
Year's  calling  ceased,  going  to  the  country  for  even 
midwinter  holidays  came  in  vogue,  and  cosmopolitan- 
ism finally  overcame  the  neighbourhood  community 
interest  of  my  girlhood.  People  stopped  making 
evening  calls  uninvited ;  you  no  longer  knew  who 
lived  in  the  street  or  even  next  house,  save  by  acci- 


32    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

dent;  the  cosey  row  of  private  dwellings  opposite 
turned  to  lodging  houses  and  sometimes  worse ;  friends 
who  had  not  seen  me  for  a  few  months  seemed  sur- 
prised to  find  me  living  in  the  same  place.  When  I 
began  to  go  about  again,  one  day  Cordelia  Martin 
(she  was  a  Bleecker  —  your  father  will  remember 
her)  met  me  in  the  street  and  asked  me  to  come  in 
the  next  evening  informally  to  dinner  and  meet  her 
sister,  an  army  officer's  wife,  who  would  be  there  en 
route  from  one  post  to  another,  and  have  an  old-time 
game  of  whist. 

"  I  went,  glad  to  see  old  friends,  and  anticipating 
a  pleasant  evening.  I  wore  a  new  soft  black  satin 
gown  slightly  V  in  front,  some  of  my  best  lace,  and 
my  pearl  ornaments;  I  even  wondered  if  the  latter 
were  in  good  taste  at  a  family  dinner.  You  know  I 
never  dwell  much  upon  attire,  but  it  is  sometimes 
necessary  when  it  is  in  a  way  epoch  making. 

"  A  butler  had  supplanted  Cordelia's  usual  cordial 
waitress ;  he  presented  a  tray  for  the  card  that  I  had 
not  brought  and  said  '  second  story  front.'  This 
seemed  strange  to  me,  as  Cordelia  herself  had  always 
come  to  the  stairway  to  greet  me  when  the  door 
opened. 

"The  'second  story  front'  had  been  done  over 
into  a  picturesque  but  useless  boudoir,  a  wood  floor 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    33 

polished  like  glass  was  dotted  by  white  fur  islands ; 
the  rich  velvet  carpets,  put  down  a  few  years  before, 
had  in  fact  disappeared  from  the  entire  house. 

"  A  maid,  anything  but  cordial,  removed  my  wrap, 
looking  me  and  it  over  very  deliberately  as  she  did 
so.  I  wondered  if  by  mistake  I  had  been  bidden  to 
a  grand  function  —  no,  there  were  no  visible  signs  of 
other  guests. 

"  Not  a  word  was  spoken,  so  I  made  my  way  down 
to  where  the  library  living-room  had  been,  not  a  little 
curious  to  see  what  would  come  next  Thick  por- 
tieres covered  the  doorway,  and  by  them  stood  the 
butler,  who  asked  my  name.  Really,  for  a  moment  I 
could  not  remember  it,  I  was  so  startled  at  this  sudden 
ceremony  in  the  house  of  a  friend,  of  such  long  stand- 
ing that  I  had  jumped  rope  on  the  sidewalk  with  her, 
making  occasional  trips  arm-in-arm  around  the  cor- 
ner to  Taffy  John's  little  shop  for  molasses  pepper- 
mints and  '  blubber  rubbers.' 

"  My  hesitation  seemed  to  add  to  the  distrust  that 
my  appearance  had  in  some  way  created.  The 
butler  also  swept  me  from  head  to  foot  with  his 
critical  stare,  and  at  the  same  moment  I  became 
internally  aware  that  I  had  forgotten  to  remove 
my  arctic  over-boots.  Never  mind,  my  gown  was 
long,  I  would  curl  up  my  toes,  but  return  to  the 


34    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

dressing-room  in  full  sight  of  that  man,  I  whose 
forbears  had  outbowled  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and,  I 
fear,  outdrunk  him  —  never! 

"  Then  the  portieres  flew  apart,  and  facing  a  glare 
of  bilious-hued  electric  light,  I  heard  the  shouted 
announcement  of  '  Miss  Doormat '  as  I  stumbled  over 
a  tiger  rug  into  the  room.  I  believe  the  fellow  did 
it  on  purpose.  However,  it  was  very  funny,  and 
my  rubber-soled  arctics  probably  prevented  my  either 
coasting  straight  across  into  the  open  fireplace,  or 
having  a  nasty  fall,  while  the  laugh  that  the  an- 
nouncement created  on  the  part  of  my  host,  Archie 
Martin,  saved  me  from  an  awkward  moment,  for 
from  a  sort  of  gilt  throne-like  arrangement  at  one 
side  of  the  hearth,  arrayed  in  brocaded  satin  gowns 
cut  very  low  and  very  long,  heads  crimped  to  a 
crisp,  and  fastened  to  meagre  shoulders  by  jewelled 
collars,  the  whole  topped  by  a  group  of  three  '  Prince 
of  Wales '  feathers,  Cordelia  and  her  sister  came 
forward  two  steps  to  greet  me. 

"  Of  course,  I  thought  to  myself,  they  are  going 
to  a  ball  later  on.  I  naturally  made  no  comment, 
and  we  went  in  to  dinner.  The  dining  room  was 
very  cold,  as  extensions  usually  are,  and  the  ladies 
presently  had  white  fur  capes  brought  to  cover 
their  exposure,  while  I,  sitting  in  the  draught  from 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    35 

the  butler's  pantry,  was  grateful  for  my  arctics. 
The  meal  was  more  pretentious  than  edible,  —  a 
strange  commentary  upon  many  delightful  little 
four  or  at  most  five  course  affairs  I  had  eaten  in 
the  same  room.  I  soon  found  that  there  was  no 
ball  in  prospect,  also  that  Cordelia  and  her  sister 
seemed  ill  at  ease,  while  Archie  had  a  look  of 
suppressed  mischief  on  his  face,  which  in  spite  of 
warning  signals  broke  forth  as  soon  as,  the  coffee 
being  served,  the  butler  left. 

"  One  great  comfort  about  men  is  that  they  do 
not  take  easily  to  being  unnatural.  Archie  and  I, 
having  been  brought  up  like  brother  and  sister  from 
the  time  we  went  to  a  little  mixed  school  over  in 
old  Clinton  Hall,  were  always  on  cordial  terms. 

" '  Well,  Lavvy,'  he  began,  '  I  see  you're  sur- 
prised at  the  change  of  base  here,  and  I'm  going 
to  let  you  in  on  the  ground  floor,  if  Cordelia  won't. 
You  see,  Janet  (she's  not  in  town  to-night,  by 
the  way)  is  coming  out  next  month,  and  we  are 
getting  in  training  for  what  her  mother  thinks  is 
her  duty  toward  her,  or  else  what  they  both  think 
is  their  duty  to  society,  or  something  else  equally 
uncomfortable.' 

"  '  Archie ! '  remonstrated  Cordelia,  but  he  good- 
naturedly  ignored  her  and  continued :  '  Now  I  want 


36    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Janet  to  have  a  jolly  winter  and  marry  a  good  fel- 
low when  the  time  comes,  but  as  we've  got  the 
nicest  sort  of  friends,  educated  and  all  that,  who 
have  travelled  along  with  us,  as  you  have,  from  the 
beginning,  why  should  we  change  our  habits  and 
feathers  and  try  to  fly  for  a  different  roost  ? ' 

" '  Archibald,'  said  Cordelia,  in  such  a  tone  that 
she  was  not  to  be  gainsaid,  '  Lavinia,  as  a  woman 
of  the  world,  will  understand  what  you  refuse  to : 
that  it  is  very  important  that  our  daughter  should 
have  the  surroundings  that  are  now  customary  to 
the  social  set  with  whom  she  has  been  educated, 
and  into  which,  if  she  is  to  be  happy,  she  must 
marry.  If  she  is  to  meet  the  right  people,  she 
must  be  rightly  presented.  All  her  set  wear  low 
gowns  at  dinner,  whether  guests  are  present  or 
not,  just  as  much  as  men  wear  their  evening  dress 
at  night  and  their  business  suits  in  the  morning. 
That  we  have  kept  up  our  old-fogy  habits  so  long 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  present  question.' 

" '  Except  that  I  have  to  strain  my  purse  to 
bring  up  everything  else  to  suit  the  clothes,  as 
naturally  gaslight,  a  leg  of  mutton,  and  two  vege- 
tables do  not  make  a  good  foreground  to  bare 
shoulders  and  a  white  vest!  And  I'd  rather  fund 
the  cash  as  a  nest-egg  for  Jenny.' 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    37 

" '  Archie,  you  are  too  absurd ! '  snapped  Cor- 
delia, yet  more  than  half  inclined  to  laugh ;  for 
she  used  to  be  the  jolliest  woman  in  the  world 
before  the  spray  of  the  Whirlpool  got  into  her 
eyes. 

" '  As  to  meeting  suitable  people  to  marry,  and 
all  that  rubbish,'  pursued  Archie,  relentlessly,  '  I 
was  considered  fairly  eligible  in  my  time,  and  did 
you  meet  me  at  any  of  the  dances  you  went  to, 
or  at  the  Assemblies  at  Fourteenth  Street  Del- 
monico's  that  were  the  swell  thing  in  those  days  ? 
No ;  I  pulled  you  out  of  an  old  Broadway  stage 
that  had  lost  a  wheel  and  keeled  over  into  a  pile 
of  snow  opposite  father's  office,  when  you  were 
practically  standing  on  your  head.  You  didn't 
fuss,  and  I  got  to  know  you  better  in  five  minutes 
than  any  one  could  in  five  years  of  this  rotten 
fuss  and  feathers.' 

" '  That  was  purely  accidental,  and  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  mention  it  so  often,'  said  Cordelia,  flush- 
ing ;  and  so  the  conversation,  at  first  playful,  gradu- 
ally working  toward  a  painful  dispute,  went  on, 
until  my  faithful  Lucy  came  to  escort  me  home, 
without  our  having  our  game  of  whist,  that  excuse 
for  intelligent  and  silent  companionship." 


38    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

"January  25th. 

"  I  dwelt  on  that  little  dinner  episode,  my  dear 
Barbara,  because  in  it  you  will  find  an  answer  to 
several  questions  I  read  between  your  lines.  Since 
my  return  I  find  that  practically  all  my  old  friends 
have  flown  to  what  Archie  Martin  called  '  a  different 
roost,'  or  else  failing,  or  having  no  desire  so  to 
do,  have  left  the  city  altogether,  leaving  me  very 
lonely.  Not  only  those  with  daughters  to  bring 
out,  but  many  of  my  spinster  contemporaries  are 
listed  with  the  buds  at  balls  and  dinner  dances, 
and  their  gowns  and  jewels  described.  Ah,  what 
a  fatal  memory  for  ages  one  has  in  regard  to  school- 
mates !  Josephine  Ponsonby  was  but  one  class  be- 
hind us,  and  she  is  dancing  away  yet. 

"The  middle-aged  French  women  who  now,  as 
always,  hold  their  own  in  public  life  have  better  tact, 
and  make  the  cultivation  of  some  intellectual  quality 
or  political  scheme  at  least  the  excuse  for  holding 
their  salons,  and  not  the  mere  excuse  of  rivalry  in 
money  spending. 

"  I  find  the  very  vocabulary  altered — for  rest  read 
change,  for  sleep  read  stimulation,  etc.  ad  hifin. 

"  Born  a  clergyman's  daughter  of  the  old  regime,  I 
was  always  obliged  to  be  more  conservative  than  was 
really  natural  to  my  temperament;  even  so,  I  find 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL    39 

myself  at  middle  life  with  comfortable  means  (owing 
to  that  bit  of  rock  and  mud  of  grandma's  on  the  old 
Bloomingdale  road  that  father  persistently  kept 
through  thick  and  thin),  either  obliged  to  compromise 
myself,  alter  my  dress  and  habits,  go  to  luncheons 
where  the  prelude  is  a  cocktail,  and  the  after  enter- 
tainment to  play  cards  for  money,  contract  bronchitis 
by  buzzing  at  afternoon  teas,  make  a  vocation  of 
charity,  or  —  stay  by  myself,  —  these  being  the  only 
forms  of  amusement  left  open,  and  none  offering  the 
intimate  form  of  social  intercourse  I  need. 

"  I  did  mission  schools  and  parish  visiting  pretty 
thoroughly  and  conscientiously  during  forty  years  of 
my  life,  —  on  my  return  an  ecclesiastical,  also,  as  well 
as  a  social  shock  awaited  me.  St.  Jacob's  has  been 
made  a  free  church,  and  my  special  department  has 
been  given  in  charge  of  two  newly  adopted  Deacon- 
esses, 'both  for  the  betterment  of  parish  work  and 
reaching  of  the  poor.'  So  be  it,  but  Heaven  help 
those  who  are  neither  rich  nor  poor  enough  to  be  of 
consequence  and  yet  are  spiritually  hungry. 

"The  church  system  is  necessarily  reduced  to 
mathematics.  The  rector  has  office  hours,  so  have 
the  curates,  and  they  will  'cheerfully  come  in  re- 
sponse to  any  call.'  It  was  pleasant  to  have  one's 
pastor  drop  in  now  and  then  in  a  sympathetic  sort  of 


40    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

way,  pleasant  to  have  a  chance  to  ask  his  advice  with- 
out formally  sending  for  him  as  if  you  wished  to  be 
prayed  over  !  But  everything  has  grown  so  big  and 
mechanical  that  there  is  not  time.  The  clergy  in 
many  high  places  are  emancipating  themselves  from 
the  Bible  and  preaching-  politics,  history,  fiction,  local 
sensation,  and  what  not,  or  lauding  in  print  the  moral 
qualities  of  a  drama  in  which  the  friendship  between 
Mary  Magdalene  and  Judas  Iscariot  is  dwelt  on  and 
the  latter  adjudged  a  patriot.  I  don't  like  it,  and  I 
don't  like  hurrying  to  church  that  I  may  secure  my 
seat  in  the  corner  of  our  once  family  pew,  where  as  a 
child  I  loved  to  think  that  the  light  that  shone  across 
my  face  from  a  particular  star  in  one  of  the  stained- 
glass  windows  was  a  special  message  to  me.  It  all 
hurts,  and  I  do  not  deny  that  I  am  bitter.  Those  in 
charge  of  gathering  in  new  souls  should  take  heed 
how  they  ignore  or  trample  on  the  old  crop ! 

"  So  I  attend  to  my  household  duties,  marketing, 
take  my  exercise,  and  keep  up  my  French  and  Ger- 
man ;  but  when  evening  comes,  no  one  rings  the  bell 
except  some  intoxicated  person  looking  for  one  of 
the  lodging  houses  opposite,  and  the  silence  is  posi- 
tively asphyxiating  —  if  they  would  only  play  an 
accordion  in  the  kitchen  I  should  be  grateful.  I'm 
really  thinking  of  offering  the  maids  a  piano  and 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL    41 

refreshments  if  they  will  give  an  '  at  home '  once  a 
week,  as  the  only  men  in  the  neighbourhood  seem  to 
be  the  butchers  and  grocery  clerks  and  the  police. 

"There  is  an  inordinate  banging  going  on  in  the 
rear  of  the  house,  and  I  must  break  off  to  see  what 
it  is." 

******* 

"January  3oth. 
"Mv  DEAR  CHILD:  — 

"  Your  second  question,  regarding  visiting  you  the 
coming  season,  was  answering  itself  the  other  day 
when  I  was  writing.  Life  here,  except  in  winter,  is 
becoming  impossible  to  me.  I  have  lost  not  only 
Josephus,  but  my  back  yard !  The  stable  where 
they  keep  the  pigeons  has  changed  hands.  Yes, 
you  were  right,  —  he  did  haunt  the  place,  the  post- 
man says;  and  I  suppose  they  did  not  understand 
that  he  was  merely  playful,  and  not  hungry,  or  who 
he  was,  else  maybe  he  was  too  careless  about  sitting 
on  the  side  fence  by  the  street.  I  could  replace 
Josephus,  but  not  the  yard,  —  there  are  no  more 
back  yards  to  be  had ;  their  decadence  is  complete. 
I've  closed  my  eyes  for  years  to  the  ash  heap  my 
neighbour  on  the  right  kept  in  hers ;  also  to  the  cast- 
off  teeth  that  came  over  from  the  '  painless '  dentist's 
on  the  left. 


42    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

"  When  the  great  tenement  flat  ran  up  on  the  north, 
where  I  could,  not  so  long  ago,  see  the  masts  of  the 
shipping  in  the  Hudson,  I  sighed,  and  prayed  that 
the  tins  and  bottles  that  I  gathered  up  each  morning 
might  not  single  me  out  when  I  was  tying  up  my 
vines  in  the  moonlight  of  early  summer  nights. 

"Josephus  resented  these  missiles,  however,  and 
his  foolish  habit  of  sitting  on  the  low  side  fence 
under  the  ailantus  tree  then  began.  Next,  I  was 
obliged  to  give  up  growing  roses,  because,  as  you 
know,  they  are  fresh-air  lovers ;  and  so  much  air 
and  light  was  cut  off  by  the  high  building  that  they 
yielded  only  leaves  and  worms.  Still  I  struggled, 
and  adapted  myself  to  new  conditions,  and  grew 
more  of  the  stronger  summer  bedding  plants. 

"  Five  days  ago  I  heard  a  banging  and  pounding. 
Only  that  morning  Lucy  had  been  told  that  the  low, 
rambling  carpenter's  shop,  that  occupied  a  double  lot 
along  the  street  to  the  southwest,  had  been  sold, 
and  we  anxiously  waited  developments.  We  were 
spared  long  suspense ;  for,  on  hearing  the  noise,  and 
going  to  the  little  tea-room  extension  where  I  keep 
my  winter  plants,  I  saw  a  horde  of  men  rapidly  de- 
molishing the  shop,  under  directions  of  a  superin- 
tendent, who  was  absolutely  sitting  on  top  of  my 
honeysuckle  trellis.  After  swallowing  six  times, — 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL    43 

a  trick  father  once  taught  me  to  cure  explosive 
speech,  —  I  went  down  and  asked  him  if  he  could 
tell  me  to  what  use  the  lot  was  to  be  put.  He  re- 
plied :  '  My  job  is  only  to  clean  it  up ;  but  the  plans 
call  for  a  twelve-story  structure, — warehouse,  I  guess. 
But  you  needn't  fret ;  it's  to  be  fireproof.' 

" '  Fireproof !  What  do  I  care  ? '  I  cried,  gazing 
around  my  poor  garden  —  or  rather  I  must  have 
fairly  snorted,  for  he  looked  down  quickly  and  took 
in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  gave  a  whistle  and 
added  :  '  I  see,  you'll  be  planted  in ;  but,  marm,  that's 
what's  got  to  happen  in  a  pushing  city  —  it  don't 
stop  even  for  graveyards,  but  just  plants  'em  in.' 

"  My  afternoon  sun  gone.  Not  for  one  minute  in 
the  day  will  its  light  rest  on  my  garden,  and  finis 
is  already  written  on  it,  and  I  see  it  an  arid  mud 
bank.  I  wonder  if  you  can  realize,  you  open-air 
Barbara,  with  your  garden  and  fields  and  all  space 
around  you,  how  a  city-bred  woman,  to  whom  crowds 
are  more  vital  than  nature,  still  loves  her  back  yard. 
I  had  a  cockney  nature  calendar  planted  in  mine, 
that  began  with  a  bunch  of  snowdrops,  ran  through 
hot  poppy  days,  and  ended  in  a  glow  of  chrysanthe- 
mums, but  all  the  while  I  worked  among  these  I 
felt  the  breath  of  civilization  about  me  and  the  solid 
pavement  under  my  feet. 


44    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  I  believe  that  every  woman  primarily  has  con- 
cealed in  the  three  rounded  corners  of  her  heart, 
waiting  development,  love  of  home,  love  of  chil- 
dren, and  love  of  nature,  and  my  nature  love  has 
yet  only  developed  to  the  size  of  a  back  yard. 

"  Yes,  I  will  come  to  visit  you  at  Oaklands  gladly, 
though  it's  a  poor  compliment  under  the  circum- 
stances. The  mother  of  twins  should  be  gone  to; 
but  tremble !  you  may  never  get  rid  of  me,  for  I  may 
supplant  Martha  Corkle,  the  miraculous,  in  spoiling 
the  boys." 


February  1st. 

"One  more  question  to  answer  and  this  budget 
of  letters  will  go  to  the  post  with  at  least  four  stamps 
on  it,  for  since  you  have  yoked  me  to  a  stub  pen  and 
begged  me  not  to  criss-cross  the  sheets,  my  bills 
for  stamps  and  stationery  have  increased. 

"  Sylvia  Latham  is  the  daughter  of  your  Bluff 
people.  Her  father's  name  is  Sylvester  Johns 
Latham,  and  he  is  a  Wall  Street  broker  and  pro- 
moter, with  a  deal  of  money,  and  ability  for  pulling 
the  wires,  but  not  much  liked  socially,  I  should 
judge,  —  that  is,  outside  of  a  certain  commercial  group. 

"  Mrs.  Latham  was,  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  a 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL    45 

pretty  southern  girl,  Vivian  Carhart,  with  only  a 
face  for  a  fortune.  In  a  way  she  is  a  beautiful 
woman  now,  has  quite  a  social  following,  a  gift  for 
entertaining,  and,  I  judge,  unbounded  vanity  and 
ambition. 

"  Quite  recently  some  apparently  valueless  western 
land,  belonging  to  her  people,  has  developed  fabu- 
lous ore,  and  they  say  that  she  is  now  more  opulent 
than  her  husband. 

"They  were  pewholders  at  St.  Jacob's  for  many 
years,  until  three  seasons  ago,  when  they  moved  from 
a  side  street  near  Washington  Square  to  '  Million- 
aire Row,'  on  the  east  side  of  the  Park.  There  are 
two  children,  Sylvia,  the  younger,  and  a  son,  Carhart, 
a  fine-looking  blond  fellow  when  I  knew  him,  but 
who  got  into  some  bad  scrape  the  year  after  he  left 
college,  —  a  gambling  debt,  I  think,  that  his  father 
repudiated,  and  sent  him  to  try  ranch  life  in  the 
West.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  at  the  time, 
and  it  was  said  that  the  boy  fell  into  bad  company 
at  his  mother's  own  card  table,  and  that  it  has 
caused  a  chilliness  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Latham. 

"  However  it  may  be,  Sylvia,  who  is  an  unspoiled 
girl  of  the  frank  and  intellectual  type,  tall,  and  radiant 
with  warm-hearted  health,  was  kept  much  away  at 
boarding-school  for  three  years,  and  then  went  to 


46    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

college  for  a  special  two  years'  course  in  literature. 
She  had  barely  returned  home  when  her  mother, 
hearing  that  I  was  going  abroad,  asked  me  to  take 
Sylvia  with  me,  as  she  was  deficient  in  languages, 
which  would  be  a  drawback  to  her  social  career. 

"  It  seemed  a  trifle  strange  to  me,  as  she  was  then 
nineteen,  an  age  when  most  girls  of  her  class  are 
brought  out,  and  had  been  away  for  practically  five 
years.  But  I  took  her  gladly,  and  she  has  been  a 
most  lovable  companion  and  friend.  She  called  me 
Aunt,  to  overcome  the  formal  Miss,  and  I  wish  she 
were  my  daughter.  I'm  only  wondering  if  her  high, 
unworldly  standpoint,  absorbed  from  wise  teachers, 
and  the  halo  that  she  has  constructed  from  imagi- 
nation and  desire  about  her  parents  during  the  years 
of  her  separation  from  them,  will  not  embarrass  them 
a  little,  now  that  she  is  at  home  for  good. 

"  By  the  way,  we  met  in  England  last  spring  a 
young  sub-professor,  Horace  Bradford,  a  most  un- 
usual young  man  for  nowadays,  but  of  old  New 
England  stock.  He  was  one  of  Sylvia's  literature 
instructors  at  Rockcliffe  College,  and  he  joined  our 
party  during  the  month  we  spent  in  the  Shakespeare 
country.  It  was  his  first  trip,  and,  I  take  it,  earned 
by  great  self-sacrifice;  and  his  scholarly  yet  boyish 
enthusiasm  added  hugely  to  our  enjoyment. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL    47 

"  He  spoke  constantly  of  his  mother.  Do  you 
know  her  ?  She  lives  on  the  old  place,  which  was 
a  farm  of  the  better  class,  I  take  it,  his  father  having 
been  the  local  judge,  tax  collector,  and  general  con- 
sulting factotum  of  his  county.  It  is  at  Pine  Ridge 
Centre,  which,  if  I  remember  rightly,  is  not  far  from 
your  town.  I  should  like  you  to  know  him. 

"I  have  only  seen  Sylvia  twice  since  our  return, 
but  she  lunches  with  me  to-morrow.  You  and  she 
should  be  fast  friends,  for  she  is  of  your  ilk ;  and 
if  this  happens,  I  shall  not  regret  the  advent  of  the 
Whirlpool  Colony  in  your  beloved  Oaklands  as  much 
as  I  do  now. 

"I  am  really  beginning  to  look  forward  to  my 
country  visit,  and  am  glad  to  see  that  some  '  advance 
season '  tops  are  spinning  on  the  pavement  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  a  game  of  marbles  is  in  progress  in 
my  front  yard  itself,  safe  from  the  annoying  skirts  of 
passers-by.  For  you  should  know,  dear  Madam  Pan, 
that  marbles  and  tops  are  the  city's  first  spring  sign. 

"  By  the  way,  I  am  sure  that  Horace  Bradford  and 
Sylvia  are  keeping  up  a  literary  correspondence. 
They  are  perfectly  suited  to  each  other  for  any  and 
every  grade  of  friendship,  yet  from  her  family  stand- 
point no  one  could  be  more  unwelcome.  He  has  no 
social  backing;  his  mother  is  a  religious  little  coun- 


48    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

try  woman,  who  doubtless  says  'riz'  and  'reckon,' 
and  he  only  has  what  he  can  earn  by  mental  effort. 
But  this  is  neither  here  nor  there,  and  I'm  sure  you 
and  I  will  have  an  interesting  summer  croon  in  spite 
of  your  qualms  and  resentment  of  the  moneyed  inva- 
sion. —  Not  another  word,  Lucy  is  waiting  to  take 

this  to  the  post-box. 

"Yours  faithfully, 

"LAVINIA  DORMAN. 

"  P.  S.  —  Josephus  has  just  come  back !  Lean,  and 
singed  by  hot  ashes,  I  judge.  I  dread  the  shock  to 
him  when  he  knows  about  the  yard ! " 


Ill 


MARTIN  CORTRIGHT'S  LETTERS  TO 
BARBARA  AND  DOCTOR  RICHARD 
RUSSELL 

"December  10,  19 — . 
"  MY  DEAR  BARBARA  :  — 

"You  have  often  asked  me  to  write  you  something 
of  myself,  my  youth,  but  where  shall  I  begin  ? 

"I  sometimes  think  that  I  must  have  been  born 
facing  backward,  and  a  fatality  has  kept  me  walking 
in  that  direction  ever  since,  so  wide  a  space  there 
seems  to  be  to-day  between  myself  and  those  whose 
age  shows  them  to  be  my  contemporaries. 

"My  father,  being  a  man  of  solid  position  both  in 
commerce  and  society,  and  having  a  far  greater 
admiration  for  men  of  art  and  letters  than  would 
have  been  tolerated  by  his  wholly  commercial  Knick- 
erbocker forbears,  I,  his  youngest  child  and  only 
son,  grew  up  to  man's  estate  among  the  set  of  con- 
temporaries that  formed  his  world,  men  of  literary 
and  social  parts,  whose  like  I  may  safely  say,  for 
E  49 


50    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

none  will  contradict,  are  unknown  to  the  rising  gen- 
eration of  New  Yorkers;  for  not  only  have  types 
changed,  but  also  the  circumstances  and  apprecia- 
tions under  which  the  development  of  those  types 
was  possible. 

"In  my  nineteenth  year  events  occurred  that  al- 
tered the  entire  course  of  my  life,  for  not  only  did 
the  almost  fatal  accident  and  illness  that  laid  me  low 
bar  my  study  of  a  profession,  but  it  rendered  me  at 
the  same  time,  though  I  did  not  then  realize  it,  that 
most  unfortunate  of  beings,  the  semi-dependent  son 
of  parents  whose  overzeal  to  preserve  a  boy's  life 
that  is  precious,  causes  them  to  deprive  him  of  the 
untrammelled  manhood  that  alone  makes  the  life 
worth  living. 

"I  always  had  a  bent  for  research,  a  passion  for 
following  the  history  of  my  country  and  city  to  its 
fountain  heads.  I  devoured  old  books,  journals,  and 
the  precious  documents  to  which  my  father  had  ready 
access,  that  passed  from  the  attic  treasure  chests  of 
the  old  houses  in  decline  to  the  keeping  of  the  His- 
torical Society.  As  a  lad  I  besought  every  gray 
head  at  my  father's  table  to  tell  me  a  story,  so  what 
more  natural,  under  the  circumstances,  than  that  my 
father  should  make  me  free  of  his  library,  and  say : 
'  I  do  not  expect  or  desire  you  to  earn  your  living ;  I 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     51 

can  provide  for  you.  Here  are  companions,  follow 
your  inclinations,  live  your  own  life,  and  do  not  be 
troubled  by  outside  affairs.' 

"At  first  I  was  too  broken  in  health  and  disap- 
pointed in  ambition  to  rebel,  then  inertia  became  a 
habit. 

"As  my  health  unexpectedly  improved  and  energy 
moved  me  to  reassert  myself  and  step  out,  a  soft 
hand  was  laid  on  mine  —  the  hand  of  my  mother, 
invalided  at  my  birth,  retired  at  forty  from  a  world 
where  she  had  shone  by  force  of  beauty  and  wit  — 
and  a  gentle  voice  would  say :  '  Stay  with  me,  my 
son,  my  baby.  Oh,  bear  with  me  a  little  longer.  If 
you  only  knew  the  comfort  it  is  to  feel  that  you  are 
in  the  house,  to  hear  your  voice.  You  will  pen  a 
history  some  day  that  will  bring  you  fame,  and  you 
will  read  it  to  me  here  —  we  two,  all  alone  in  my 
chamber,  before  the  world  hears  it.'  So  I  stayed 
on.  How  mother  love  often  blinds  the  eyes  to  its 
own  selfishness. 

"That  fatal  twentieth  year,  the  time  of  my  over- 
throw, brought  me  one  good  gift,  your  father's  friend- 
ship. It  was  a  strange  chance,  that  meeting,  and  it 
was  my  love  of  hearing  of  past  events  and  the  ques- 
tions concerning  them  that  brought  it  about.  Has 
your  father  ever  told  you  of  it? 


52     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"Likely  not,  for  his  life  work  has  been  the  good 
physician's,  to  bring  forth  and  keep  alive,  and  mine 
the  antiquarian's,  dreaming  and  groping  among  ruins 
for  doubtful  treasure  of  fallen  walls. 

"My  mother  came  of  English,  not  Knickerbocker 
stock  like  my  father,  though  both  belong  distinctly 
to  New  York ;  and  female  education  being  in  a  some- 
what chaotic  state  between  the  old  regime  and  new, 
her  parents,  desirous  of  having  her  receive  the  gen- 
teel polish  of  courtly  manners,  music,  and  dancing, 
sent  her,  when  about  fifteen,  to  Mrs.  Rowson's  school, 
then  located  at  Hollis  Street,  Boston.  The  fame  of 
this  school  had  travelled  far  and  wide,  for  not  only 
had  the  preceptress  in  her  youth,  as  Susanna  H as- 
well,  been  governess  to  the  children  of  the  beautiful 
Georgiana,  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  women  of  her  day,  and  profited  by  her 
fine  taste,  but  her  own  high  morals  and  literary  gifts 
made  her  tutorship  a  much  sought  privilege. 

"While  there  my  mother  met  the  little  New  Eng- 
land girl  who  was  long  afterward  to  become  your 
grandmother.  She  had  also  come  to  study  music,  for 
which  she  had  a  talent.  My  mother  related  to  me, 
when  I  was  a  little  lad  and  used  to  burrow  in  her 
carved  oak  treasure  chest  and  beg  for  stories  of  the 
articles  it  contained,  many  fascinating  tales  of  those 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     53 

two  school  years,  a  pretty  colour  coming  to  her 
cheeks  as  she  told  of  the  dances  learned  together, 
pas-de-deux  and  minuet,  from  old  '  Doctor '  Shaffer, 
who  was  at  the  time  second  violin  of  the  Boston 
Theatre,  as  well  as  authority  in  the  correct  methods 
of  bowing  and  courtesying  for  gentlewomen.  Your 
grandmother  married  first,  and  the  letter  telling  of  it 
was  stored  away  with  others  in  the  oak  chest 

"  Some  months  before  the  steamboat  accident  that 
shattered  my  nerves,  and  preceded  the  long  illness, 
I  was  browsing  at  a  bookstall,  on  my  way  up  from 
college  homeward,  when  I  came  across  a  copy  of 
Charlotte  Temple  —  one  of  the  dozen  later  editions 
—  printed  in  New  York  by  one  R.  Hobbs,  in  1827, 
its  distinguishing  interest  lying  in  a  frontispiece  de- 
picting Charlotte's  flight  from  Portsmouth. 

"  The  story  had  long  been  a  familiar  one,  and  I,  in 
common  with  others  of  many  times  my  age  and  judg- 
ment, had  lingered  before  the  slab  that  bears  her 
name  in  the  graveyard  of  old  Trinity,  and  sometimes 
laid  a  flower  on  it  for  sympathy's  sake,  as  I  have 
done  many  times  since. 

"  On  my  return  home  I  showed  the  little  book  to 
my  mother,  and  as  she  held  it  in  her  hinds  and  read 
a  word  here  and  there,  she  too  began  to  journey 
backward  to  her  school  days,  and  asked  my  father  to 


54    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

bring  out  her  treasure  chest,  and  from  it  she  took  her 
school  relics, — a  tattered  ribbon  watch-guard  fastened 
by  a  flat  gold  buckle  that  Mrs.  Rowson  had  given 
her  as  a  reward  for  good  conduct,  and  a  package 
of  letters.  She  spent  an  hour  reading  these,  and  old 
ties  strengthened  as  she  read.  I  can  see  her  now  as 
she  sat  bolstered  by  pillows  in  her  reclining  chair,  a 
writing  tray  upon  her  knees,  penning  a  long  letter. 

"  A  few  months  afterward,  as  I  lay  in  my  bed  too 
weak  even  to  stir,  your  father  stood  there,  looking 
across  the  footboard  at  me,  —  the  answer  to  that  let- 
ter. Your  father,  tall  and  strong  of  body  and  brain, 
a  Harvard  graduate  drawn  to  New  York  to  study 
medicine  at  the  College  of  Physicians  and  Surgeons. 
His  eyes  of  strengthening  manly  pity  looked  into 
mine  and  drew  me  slowly  back  to  life  with  them. 

"  His  long  absence  as  surgeon  in  the  Civil  War,  the 
settling  down  as  a  country  doctor,  and  even  loving 
the  same  woman,  has  not  separated  us.  Never  more 
than  a  few  months  passed  but  our  thoughts  met  on 
paper,  or  our  hands  clasped.  His  solicitude  in  a  large 
measure  restored  my  health,  so  that  at  sixty-three, 
physically,  I  can  hold  my  own  with  any  man  of  my 
age,  and  to-day  I  walk  my  ten  miles  with  less  ado 
than  many  younger  men.  Because  of  my  intense 
dislike  of  the  modern  means  of  street  transportation, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     55 

I  have  kept  on  walking  ever  since  the  time  that  your 
father  and  I  footed  it  from  Washington  Park  to 
Van  Cortlandt  Manor,  through  the  muskrat  marshes 
whereon  the  park  plaza  now  stands,  up  through  the 
wilds  of  the  future  Central  Park,  McGowan's  Pass, 
and  northwestward  across  the  Harlem  to  our  desti- 
nation. He  will  recollect.  We  were  two  days  pick- 
ing our  way  in  going  and  two  days  on  the  return,  for 
we  scorned  the  'bus  route,  and  that  was  only  in  the 
later  fifties.  Never  mind,  if  we  ever  do  get  back  to 
small  clothes  and  silk  stockings,  Martin  Cortright  can 
show  a  rounded  calf,  if  he  has  been  esteemed  little 
more  than  a  crawling  bookworm  these  many  years. 

"  Methinks  I  hear  you  yawn  and  crumple  these 
sheets  together  in  your  hand,  saying :  *  What  ails 
the  man  —  is  he  grown  doity?  I  thought  he  was 
contented,  even  if  sluggishly  serene.' 

"  And  so  he  was,  as  one  grown  used  to  numbness, 
until  last  summer  one  Mistress  Barbara  visited  the 
man-snail  in  his  shell  and  exorcised  him  to  come 
forth  for  an  outing,  to  feed  among  fresh  green  leaves 
and  breathe  the  perfume  of  flowers  and  young  lives. 
When  lo  and  behold,  on  the  snail's  return,  the  shell 
had  grown  too  small! 

"  Faithfully, 

"M.  C." 


56    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

(To  R.  R.) 

"  December  22,  19 — . 

"So  social  change  has  also  cast  its  shadow  across 
even  your  country  pathway,  dear  Hippocrates  ?  I  wish 
it  had  spared  you,  but  I  feared  as  much  when  I  heard 
that  your  peaceful  town  had  been  invaded  by  an  ad- 
vance guard  of  those  same  People  of  the  Whirlpool 
who  keep  the  social  life  of  their  own  city  in  a  ferment 

"  You  ask  what  is  the  matter,  what  the  cause  of 
the  increasing  restlessness  that  appears  on  every 
side,  driving  the  conservative  thinking  class  of  mod- 
erate means  to  seek  home  shelter  beyond  city  limits, 
and  drawing  the  rest  into  a  swirl  that,  sooner  or  later, 
either  casts  them  forth  as  wrecks  or  sucks  them 
wholly  down. 

"  The  question  is  difficult  of  answer,  but  there  are 
two  things  that  are  potent  causes  of  the  third.  Money 
too  quickly  earned,  or  rather  won,  causes  an  unwise 
expansion,  and  a  fictitious  prosperity  that  has  degraded 
the  life  standard.  Except  in  exclusively  academic 
circles,  the  man  is  gauged  by  his  power  of  financial 
purchase  and  control,  and  the  dollar  is  his  hall  mark. 
He  is  forced  to  buy,  not  win,  his  way.  Of  course,  if 
pedigree  and  private  character  correspond  in  quan- 
tity, so  much  the  better,  but  their  importance  is 
strictly  held  in  abeyance. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     57 

"  Even  in  the  legendary  classic  shades  of  learning, 
the  cold  pressure  of  the  golden  thumb  crowds  down 
and  chills  penniless  brains.  All  students  do  not 
have  equal  chance  and  equal  rights.  How  can  they, 
when  the  exclusiveness  of  many  fraternities  is  not 
by  intellectual  gauge  or  the  capability  for  comrade- 
ship, but  the  power  to  pay  high  dues  and  spend 
lavishly.  Of  later  years,  in  several  conspicuous 
cases,  even  the  choice  of  college  officials  of  high 
control  has  been  guided  rather  by  their  capacity  as 
financiers  than  for  ripened  and  inspiring  scholarship. 

"  Then,  too,  the  rack  of  constant  change  is  detri- 
mental to  the  finer  grade  of  civic  sentiment.  It  would 
seem  that  the  Island's  significant  Indian  name  was 
wrought  into  its  physical  construction  like  the  curse 
that  kept  the  Jew  of  fable  a  wanderer.  Periodically 
the  city  is  rent  and  upheaved  in  unison  with  the  sur- 
rounding changes  of  tide.  Here  one  does  not  need 
to  live  out  his  threescore  years  and  ten  to  see  the 
city  of  his  youth  slip  away  from  him.  Even  his 
Alma  Mater  packs  her  trunks  and  moves  about  too 
rapidly  to  foster  the  undying  loyal  home  spirit  among 
her  sons  —  my  college  has  lived  in  three  houses  since 
my  freshman  year.  How  I  envy  the  sons  of  Har- 
vard, Yale,  and  all  the  rest  who  can  go  back,  and, 
feeling  at  least  a  scrap  of  the  old  campus  turf  beneath 


58     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

their  feet,  close  their  eyes  and  be  young  again  for 
one  brief  minute.  Is  not  this  the  reason  why  so 
many  of  Columbia's  sons,  in  spite  of  the  magnificent 
opportunities  she  offers,  send  their  sons  elsewhere, 
because  they  realize  the  value  of  associations  they 
have  missed,  and  recognize  the  Whirlpool's  change- 
fulness  ? 

"  What  would  be  the  feelings  of  an  Oxford  man, 
on  returning  from  his  life  struggle  in  India  or  Aus- 
tralia, to  visit  his  old  haunts,  if  he  found,  as  a  sign 
of  vaunted  progress,  the  Bodleian  Library  turned 
into  an  apartment  house ! 

"The  primal  difference  between  civilized  men 
and  the  nameless  savage  is  love  of  home,  and  the 
powerful  races  are  those  in  whom  this  instinct  is 
the  strongest.  Such  fealty  is  not  born  in  the  shift- 
ing almost  tent-dwellers  of  Manhattan. 

"  It  was  in  the  late  seventies,  the  winter  before 
his  passing,  that  one  mild  night  I  walked  home 
from  a  meeting  of  the  Goethe  Club  in  company 
with  the  poet  Bryant.  He  and  my  father  had  been 
stanch  comrades,  and  many  a  time  had  I  studied  his 
Homeric  head  silhouetted  by  firelight  on  our  library 
wall.  As  we  crossed  the  Park  front  going  from 
Fifth  Avenue  east  to  west,  he  paused,  and  leaning 
on  his  cane  gazed  skyward,  where  the  outlines  of 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL     59 

some  buildings,  in  process  of  construction  on  Fifty- 
ninth  Street,  and  then  considered  high,  stood  out 
against  the  sky. 

" '  Poor  New  York,'  he  said,  half  to  himself,  half 
to  me,  'created  and  yet  cramped  by  force  of  her 
watery  boundaries,  where  shall  her  sons  and  daugh- 
ters find  safe  dwelling-places  ?  They  have  covered 
the  ground  with  their  habitations,  and  even  now  they 
are  climbing  into  the  sky.'  And  he  went  on  leaving 
his  question  unanswered. 

******* 

"A  caller  interrupted  me  yesterday,  a  most  per- 
sistent fellow  and  a  dangerous  one  to  the  purse  of 
the  tyro  collector  of  Americana,  though  not  to  me. 
He  was  a  man  of  some  pretence  to  classic  educa- 
tion, and  superficially  versed  in  lore  of  title,  date, 
and  editio  princeps.  He  had  half  a  dozen  prints 
of  rarity  and  value  had  they  not  been  forgeries, 
and  a  book  .  .  .  that  I  had  long  sought  after  in 
its  original  form,  but  the  only  copy  I  had  seen  for 
many  years  when  put  up  at  auction  lacked  the  title 
page  and  fully  half  a  dozen  leaves,  besides  having 
some  other  defects.  Would  you  believe  it,  Dick, 
this  copy  was  that  from  the  auction,  its  defects 
repaired,  its  missing  leaves  replaced  by  careful 
forgery,  and  what  is  more,  I  know  the  vender  was 


60    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

aware  of  the  deceit.  But  he  will  sell  it  to  some 
young  moneyed  sprig  who  will  not  know. 

"  I  was  angry,  Dick,  very  angry,  and  yet  all  this 
is  a  trivial  part  of  what  we  have  a  long  time  been 
discussing.  The  sudden  glint  of  wealth  in  certain 
quarters  has  changed  the  aspect  of  even  book  col- 
lecting, that  once  most  individual  of  occupations, 
and  syndicated  it. 

"  Once  a  book  collection  was  the  natural  accumu- 
lation, more  or  less  perfect  according  to  purse  and 
opportunity,  of  one  following  a  certain  line  of 
thought,  and  bore  the  stamp  of  individuality ;  but  as 
these  bibliophiles  of  the  old  regime  pass  away,  the 
ranks  are  recruited  by  men  to  whom  money  is  of  no 
account,  whose  competition  forces  irrational  prices 
and  creates  false  values.  Methinks  I  see  the  finish  of 
the  small  collectors  like  ourselves.  Meanwhile,  just 
so  much  intellectual  pleasure  is  wrested  from  the 
modern  scholar  of  small  means  who  dares  not  make 
beginning.  I  do  not  like  it,  Dick,  indeed  I  do  not. 

"  But  we  were  discussing  domesticity,  I  think,  when 
this  wretch  rang  the  bell.  The  restlessness  I  speak 
of  as  born  of  undisciplined  bigness,  of  moneyed 
magnitude,  is  visible  everywhere,  and  more  so  in 
the  hours  of  relaxation  than  those  of  business. 

"  We  have  acquired  the  knowledge  of  many  arts  in 


these  late  years,  and  we  needed  it ;  but  we  have  lost 
one  that  is  irreparable  —  sociality.  There  is  no 
longer  time  to  know  oneself,  how  then  shall  we  know 
our  neighbours  ? 

"  The  verb  to  entertain  has  largely  driven  the  verb 
to  enjoy  from  the  social  page.  It  is  not  too  extreme, 
I  think,  to  say  the  home  and  playhouse  have  changed 
places.  Many  conservative  people  that  I  know  turn 
to  the  theatre  as  the  only  safe  means  of  relaxation 
and  enjoyment  within  their  reach,  the  stress  and  pen- 
alty of  criticism  in  entertaining  modern  company 
being  unbearable  to  them. 

"To  the  bachelor  who,  like  myself,  has  a  modest 
hearthstone,  yet  no  hand  but  his  own  to  stir  the  fire, 
the  dinner  tables  of  his  married  friends  and  his  clubs 
have  been  supposed  to  replace,  in  a  measure  at  least, 
the  need  of  family  ties.  Once  they  did  this  as  far  as 
such  things  may,  but  the  easy  sociality  of  the  family 
board  has  almost  ceased,  and  the  average  club  has  so 
expanded  that  it  savours  more  of  hotel  freedom  than 
home  cosiness. 

"  I  am  not  a  misanthrope  or  a  woman  hater,  as 
you  know,  yet  from  what  I  gather  I  fear  that,  in 
the  upper  middle  class  at  least,  it  is  the  women  who 
are  responsible  for  this  increased  formality  that 
most  men  naturally  would  avoid.  Led  by  personal 


62    THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

ambition,  or  that  of  young  daughters,  they  seek  to 
maintain  a  standard  just  enough  beyond  their  easy 
grasp  to  feel  ill  at  ease,  if  not  humiliated,  to  be  caught 
off  guard.  I  remember  once  when  I  was  a  mere  boy 
hearing  my  father  say  in  a  sorrowing  tone  to  my 
eldest  sister,  who  was  giving  fugitive  reasons  for  not 
being  able  to  array  herself  quickly  for  some  festivity 
for  which  the  invitation  had  been  delayed,  yet  to 
which  she  longed  to  go:  'Wherever  woman  enters  so- 
cially, then  complications  begin  that  are  wholly  of  her 
own  making.  I  warrant  before  Eve  had  finished  her 
fig-leaf  petticoat  she  was  bothering  Adam  to  know  if 
he  thought  there  could  be  another  woman  anywhere 
who  had  a  garment  of  rarer  leaves  than  her  own.' 

"  The  clubs  do  somewhat  better,  being  under  male 
management,  but  those  among  them  that  ranked  as 
so  conservative  that  membership  was  the  hall  mark 
of  intellectual  acquirements  and  stamped  a  man  as 
either  author,  artist,  or  amateur  of  letters  and  the 
fine  arts,  have  had  their  doors  pushed  open  by  many 
of  those  who  wish  to  wear  in  public  the  name  of 
being  without  good  right,  and  so  the  little  groups  of 
kindred  spirits  have  broken  away,  the  authors  in  one 
direction,  the  followers  of  the  drama  to  habitations  of 
their  own,  artists  who  are  too  independent  to  be  over- 
borne by  money  in  another,  and  thus  the  splitting 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    63 

spirit  increases  until  it  vanishes  in  a  maze  of  cliques 
and  coteries.  The  names  may  stand  on  the  lists,  the 
faces  are  absent,  and  one  must  wander  through  half  a 
dozen  clubs  to  really  meet  the  aggregation  of  thinkers 
and  workers  of  the  grade  who  gathered  in  the  snug 
corners  of  the  Century's  old  club  house  in  East  Fif- 
teenth Street  when  we  were  young  fellows,  and  my 
father  secured  us  cards  for  an  occasional  monthly 
meeting  as  the  greatest  favour  he  could  do  us. 

"  Come  down  if  you  can,  take  a  holiday,  or  rather 
night,  and  go  with  me  to  the  January  meeting,  and  we 
will  also  stroll  among  some  of  our  old  haunts.  You  may 
perhaps  realize,  what  I  cannot  altogether  explain,  the 
reason  why  I  feel  almost  a  stranger  though  at  home." 


(To  DR.  R.  R.) 

January  10,  19 — . 

"  Could  not  get  away,  you  conscientious  old  Medi- 
cus,  because  of  the  strange  accidents  and  holiday 
doings  of  the  Whirlpool  Colony  at  the  Bluffs ! 

"  Well,  well !  I  read  your  last  with  infinite  amuse- 
ment. You  are  in  a  fair  way  to  have  enlightenment 
borne  in  upon  you  without  leaving  your  surgery,  or 
at  least  travelling  farther  than  your  substantial  gig 
will  take  you. 


64    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  Meanwhile  I  have  had  what  should  be  a  crushing 
blow  to  my  vanity,  and  in  analyzing  it  I've  made  an  im- 
portant discovery.  One  night  last  week  I  was  sitting 
quietly  in  the  card  room  at  the  Dibdin  Club,  awaiting 
my  whist  mates  (for  here  at  least  one  may  be  reason- 
ably sure  of  finding  a  group  with  bibliographic  inter- 
ests in  common,  and  the  pleasures  of  a  non-commercial 
game  of  cards),  when  I  heard  a  voice,  one  of  a  group 
outside,  belonging  to  a  wholesome,  smooth-faced 
young  fellow,  with  good  tastes  and  instincts,  say :  — 

"'I  don't  know  what  happened  to  the  old  boy  when 
he  took  that  unheard-of  vacation  of  his  last  fall,  or 
where  he  went,  but  one  thing's  very  sure,  since  his 
return  Cortright's  grown  pudgy  and  he's  waked  bang 
up.  Wonder  if  he's  finished  that  Colonial  History, 
that's  to  be  his  monument,  he's  been  working  on  all 
his  life,  or  if  he's  fallen  in  love  ? ' 

" '  If  he'd  fall  in  love,  he  might  stand  more  chance 
of  finishing  his  history,'  replied  a  graybeard  friend 
in  deep  didactic  tones;  'he  has  material  in  plenty, 
but  no  vital  stimulus  for  focussing  his  work.' 

"  I  gave  an  unpremeditated  laugh  that  dwindled  to 
a  chuckle,  as  if  it  were  produced  by  a  choking  pro- 
cess. Two  heads  appeared  a  second  at  the  door- 
way of  the  room  they  had  thought  empty,  and  then 
vanished ! 


THE   PEOPLE   OF    THE   WHIRLPOOL    65 

"  When  I  came  home  I  sat  a  long  while  before  my 
den  fireplace  thinking.  They  were  right  in  two  things, 
though  not  in  the  falling  in  love  —  that  was  done  thirty- 
five  years  ago  once  and  for  all.  I  wondered  if  I  had 
grown  pudgy,  dreadful  word;  stout  carries  a  certain 
dignity,  but  pudgy  suggests  bunchy,  wabbling  flesh. 
I've  noticed  my  gloves  go  on  lingeringly,  clinging  at 
the  joints,  but  I  read  that  to  mean  rheumatism ! 

"  That  night  I  stood  before  the  mirror  and  studied 
my  face  as  I  unbuttoned  my  vest  and  loosened  my 
shirt  band  at  the  neck.  Suddenly  I  experienced 
great  relief.  For  several  months  past  I  have  felt  a 
strange  asphyxiation  and  a  vertigo  sensation  when 
wearing  formal  clothes  of  any  kind,  enjoying  complete 
comfort  only  in  the  loose  neckcloth  and  wrapper  of 
my  private  hours.  I  had  thought  of  asking  medical 
advice,  but  having  acquired  a  distrust  of  general 
physic  in  my  youth,  and  hoping  you  might  come 
down,  I  put  it  off. 

"  Unfasten  your  own  top  button,  and  now  prepare 
to  laugh  —  Martin  Cortright  is  not  threatened  with 
apoplexy  or  heart  failure,  he's  grown  pudgy,  and  his 
clothes  are  all  too  small !  Yet  but  for  that  boy's  good- 
tempered  ridicule  he  might  not  have  discovered  it. 

"  Think  of  it,  Richard !  I,  whom  my  mother  consid- 
ered interesting  and  of  somewhat  distinguished  mien, 


66    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

owing  to  my  pallor  and  slim  stature !  A  pudgy  worm 
belongs  to  chestnuts,  not  to  books.  A  pudgy  anti- 
quarian is  a  thing  unheard  of  since  monastic  days, 
when  annal  making  was  not  deemed  out  of  place  if 
mingled  with  the  rotund  jollity  of  a  Friar  Tuck.  You 
must  bear  half  the  blame,  for  it  must  be  the  butter  habit 
that  your  Martha  Corkle's  fresh  churned  pats  inocu- 
lated me  with,  for  I  always  detested  the  stuff  before. 

"Graybeard's  stricture,  however,  struck  a  deeper 
chord  —  'He  has  material  in  plenty  for  his  book,  but 
no  vital  stimulus.'  This,  too,  is  deeply  true,  and  I 
have  felt  it  vaguely  so  for  some  time,  but  no  more 
realized  it  than  I  did  my  pudginess. 

"  No  matter  how  much  material  one  collects,  if  the 
vitalizing  spirit  is  not  there,  no  matter  how  realisti- 
cally the  stage  may  be  set  if  the  actors  are  mere 
dummies.  The  only  use  of  the  past  is  to  illuminate 
and  sustain  the  present. 

"  Your  own  home  life  and  work,  the  honest  ques- 
tions of  little  Richard  and  Ian  waken  me  from  a  long 
sleep,  I  believe,  and  set  me  thinking.  What  is  a  man 
remembered  by  the  longest  ?  Brain  work,  memorial 
building,  or  heart  touching?  Do  you  recollect  once 
meeting  old  Moore  —  Clement  Clark  Moore  —  at  my 
father's  ?  He  was  a  profound  scholar  in  Greek  and 
Hebrew  lexicology,  and  gave  what  was  once  his 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    67 

country  house  and  garden  in  old  Chelsea  Village  to 
the  theological  seminary  of  his  professorship.  How 
many  people  remember  this,  or  his  scholarship  ?  But 
before  that  old  rooftree  was  laid  low,  he  wrote  be- 
neath it,  quite  offhand,  a  little  poem,  '  The  Night 
Before  Christmas,'  that  blends  with  childhood's 
dreams  anew  each  Christmas  Eve  —  a  few  short 
verses  holding  more  vitality  than  all  his  learning. 
"  If  my  book  ever  takes  body,  my  friend,  it  will  be 
under  your  roof,  where  you  and  yours  can  vitalize  it. 
This  is  no  fishing  for  invitations  —  we  know  each 
other  too  frankly  well  for  that.  What  I  wish  to 
do  is  to  come  into  your  neighbourhood  next  spring- 
time, without  encroaching  on  your  hospitality,  and 
work  some  hours  every  day  in  the  library,  or  that 
corner  of  her  charmed  attic  that  Barbara  has  shared 
with  me.  It  is  bewitching.  Upon  my  word,  I  do 
not  wonder  that  she  sees  the  world  rose-colour  as  she 
looks  upon  it  from  that  window.  I,  too,  had  long  rev- 
eries there,  in  which  experience  and  tradition  mixed 
themselves  so  cleverly  that  for  the  time  I  could  not 
tell  whether  it  was  my  father  or  myself  who  had  some- 
times proudly  escorted  the  lovely  Carroll  sisters  upon 
their  afternoon  promenade  down  Broadway,  from 
Prince  Street  to  the  Bowling  Green,  each  leading  her 
pet  greyhound  by  a  ribbon  leash,  or  which  of  us  it 


68     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

was  that,  in  seeking  to  recapture  an  escaping  hound, 
was  upset  by  it  in  the  mud,  to  the  audible  delight  of 
some  rivals  in  a  'bus  and  his  own  discomfiture,  being 
rendered  thereby  unseemly  for  the  beauty's  further 
company." 

****** 

"January  20,  19 — . 

"Thank  you,  dear  Richard,  for  your  brotherly 
letter.  I  make  no  protestations,  for  I  know  your 
invitation  would  not  be  given  if  you  felt  my  presence 
would  in  any  way  be  a  drawback  or  impose  care  on 
any  member  of  your  household,  and  the  four  little 
hearts  that  Barbara  drew,  with  her  own,  Evan's,  and 
the  boys'  initials  in  them,  are  seals  upon  the  invita- 
tion. 

"  Do  not  deplore,  however,  the  lack  of  nearness  of 
my  haunts  in  Astor  and  Lenox  libraries.  Times 
are  changed,  and  the  new  order  condemns  me  to  sit 
here  if  I  read,  there  if  I  take  out  pencil  and  pad  to 
copy  —  the  red  tape  distracts  me.  The  old  His- 
torical Society  alone  remains  in  comfortable  con- 
fusion, and  that  is  soon  to  move  upward  half  a  day's 
walk. 

"  But,  as  it  chances,  you  have  collected  many  of  the 
volumes  that  are  necessary  to  me,  and  I  will  use  them 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    69 

freely,  for  some  day,  friend  of  mine,  my  books  will 
be  joined  to  yours,  and  also  feel  the  touch  of  little 
Richard's  and  lan's  fingers,  and  of  their  sons,  also, 
I  hope. 

"  I  declare,  I'm  growing  childishly  expectant  and 
impatient  for  spring,  like  Barbara  with  her  packages 
of  flower  seeds. 

"  You  ask  if  I  ever  remember  meeting  one  Lavinia 
Dorman.  I  think  I  used  to  see  her  with  a  bevy  of 
girls  from  Miss  Black's  school,  who  used  sometimes 
to  attend  lectures  at  the  Historical  Society  rooms, 
and  had  an  unlimited  appetite  for  the  chocolate  and 
sandwiches  that  were  served  below  in  the  '  tombs ' 
afterward,  which  appetite  I  may  have  helped  to 
appease,  for  you  know  father  was  always  a  sort  of 
mine  host  at  those  functions. 

"The  girls  must  have  all  been  eight  or  ten  years 
my  junior,  and  you  know  how  a  fellow  of  twenty- 
three  or  four  regards  giggling  schoolgirls  —  they 
seem  quite  like  kittens  to  him. 

"  Stop,  was  she  one  of  the  older  girls,  the  special 
friend  of  —  Barbara's  mother?  If  so,  I  remember 
her  face,  though  she  did  not  walk  in  the  school  pro- 
cession with  the  other  'convicts,'  as  the  boys  called 
them ;  but  I  was  never  presented. 

"  I'm  sending  a  small  birthday  token  to  the  boys — • 


70    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

a  little  printing-press.  Richard  showed  no  small  skill 
in  setting  the  letters  of  my  rubber  stamp.  It  is  some 
days  late,  but  that  will  separate  it  from  the  glut  of 
the  Christmas  market.  Ask  Evan  to  notify  me  if  he 
and  Barbara  go  to  town. 

"  Gratefully, 

"  M.  C." 


IV 

WHEN   BARBARA   GOES  TO  TOWN 

March  4.  I  like  to  go  to  a  plain  people's  play, 
where  the  spectators  groan  and  hiss  the  villain. 
It  is  a  wholesome  sort  of  clearing  house  where  one 
may  be  freed  from  pent-up  emotion  under  cover  of 
other  people's  tears  and  smiles;  the  smiles  triumph- 
ing at  the  end,  which  always  winds  up  with  a  sudden 
recoil,  leaving  the  nerves  in  a  healthy  thrill.  I  be- 
lieve that  I  can  only  comprehend  the  primal  emotions 
and  what  is  called  in  intellectual  jargon  mental  dis- 
sipation, and  the  problem  play,  in  its  many  phases, 
appeals  to  me  even  less  than  crude  physical  dis- 
sipation. 

We  have  seen  a  drama  of  the  people  played  quite 
recently,  having  been  to  New  York  to  spend  part 
of  a  "  midwinter "  week's  vacation,  which  father  in- 
sisted that  Evan  should  take  between  two  rather 
complex  and  eye-straining  pieces  of  work.  Speaking 
by  the  almanac,  it  wasn't  midwinter  at  all,  but  pre- 
71 


72     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

spring,  which,  in  spite  of  lengthening  days,  is  the 
only  uncompromisingly  disagreeable  season  in  the 
country  —  the  time  when  measles  usually  invades 
the  village  school,  the  dogs  come  slinking  in  guilt- 
ily to  the  fire,  pasted  with  frozen  mud,  the  boys 
have  snuffle  colds,  in  spite  of  father's  precautions, 
and  I  grow  desperate  and  flout  the  jonquils  in  my 
window  garden,  it  seems  so  very  long  since  sum- 
mer, and  longer  yet  to  real  budding  spring.  We 
arrived  at  home  last  night  in  the  wildest  snow- 
storm of  the  season,  and  this  morning  Evan,  having 
smoothed  out  his  mental  wrinkles  by  means  of  our 
mild  city  diversions,  is  now  filling  his  lungs  and 
straightening  his  shoulders  by  building  a  wonderful 
snow  fort  for  the  boys.  Presently  I  shall  go  down 
to  help  them  bombard  him  in  it,  and  try  to  persuade 
them  that  it  will  last  longer  if  they  do  not  squeeze 
the  snowballs  too  hard,  for  Evan  has  prohibited 
"baking"  altogether. 

The  "baking"  of  snowballs  consists  of  making 
up  quite  a  batch  at  once,  then  dipping  them  in 
water  and  leaving  them  out  until  they  are  hard 
as  rocks,  and  really  wicked  missiles. 

The  process,  unknown  in  polite  circles  here, 
though  practised  by  the  factory  town  "  muskrats," 
was  taught  my  babies  by  the  Vanderveer  boy  dur- 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     73 

ing  the  Christmas  holidays,  which,  being  snowy  and 
bright,  drew  the  colony  to  the  Bluffs  for  coasting, 
skating,  etc.,  giving  father  such  a  river  of  senseless 
accidents  to  wade  through  that  he  threatens  to 
absent  himself  and  take  refuge  with  Martin  Cort- 
right  in  his  Irving  Place  den  for  holiday  week 
next  year.  Father  has  ridden  many  a  night  when 
the  roads  would  not  admit  of  wheeling,  without 
thought  of  complaint,  to  the  charcoal  camp  to  tend 
a  new  mother,  a  baby,  or  a  woodchopper  suddenly 
stricken  with  pneumonia,  that  is  so  common  a 
disease  among  men  living  as  these  do  on  poor  food, 
in  tiny  close  cabins,  and  continually  getting  checks 
of  perspiration  in  the  variable  climate.  During  the 
holidays  he  was  called  to  the  Bluffs  in  the  middle 
of  two  consecutive  nights,  first  to  the  Vanderveers, 
and  requested  to  "  drug "  the  second  assistant  but- 
ler, who  was  wildly  drunk,  and  being  a  recent  ac- 
quisition had  been  brought  to  officiate  at  the  house 
party  without  due  trial,  "  so  that  he  wouldn't  be 
used  up  the  next  day,"  and  then  to  the  Ponsonby's, 
where  the  family  had  evidently  not  yet  gone  to 
bed.  Here  he  found  that  the  patient,  a  visiting 
school  friend  of  one  of  the  daughters,  from  up 
the  state,  and  evidently  not  used  to  the  whirl  of 
the  pool,  had  skated  all  day,  and,  kept  going  by 


74    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

unaccustomed  stimulants,  taken  half  from  ignorance, 
half  from  bravado,  had  danced  the  evening  through 
at  the  club  house,  and  then  collapsed.  Her  hostess, 
careless  through  familiarity  with  it,  had  given  her  a 
dose  of  one  of  the  chloral  mixtures  "  to  let  her  have 
a  good  night's  sleep " ;  but  instead  it  had  sent  her 
into  hysterics,  and  she  was  calling  wildly  for  her 
mother  to  come  and  take  her  home.  Father  re- 
turned from  both  visits  fairly  white  with  rage. 
Not  at  the  unfortunates  themselves,  be  it  said,  but 
at  the  cool  nonchalance  of  those  who  summoned 
him. 

The  butler's  was  a  common  enough  case.  That 
of  the  young  girl  moved  him  to  pity,  and  then  in- 
dignation, as  he  sifted  out  the  cause  of  the  attack, 
in  order  to  treat  her  intelligently.  This  questioning 
Mrs.  Ponsonby  resented  most  emphatically,  telling 
him  "  to  attend  to  his  business  and  not  treat  ladies 
as  if  they  were  criminals."  This  to  a  man  of 
father's  professional  ability,  and  one  of  over  sixty 
years  of  age  in  the  bargain. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  "you  are  a  criminal;  for  to 
my  thinking  all  preventable  illness,  such  as  this, 
is  a  crime.  Leave  the  room,  and  when  I  have 
soothed  this  poor  child  I  will  go  home ;  and  remem- 
ber, do  not  send  for  me  again ;  it  will  be  useless." 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     75 

Never  a  word  did  he  say  of  the  matter  at  home, 
though  I  read  part  in  his  face ;  but  the  Ponsonby's 
housekeeper,  a  countrywoman  of  Martha  Corkle's, 
took  the  news  to  her,  adding  "  and  the  missus 
stepped  lively  too,  she  did;  only,  law's  sakes,  by 
next  mornin'  she'd  forgot  all  about  it,  and,  we 
being  short-handed,  wanted  me  to  go  down  with 
James  and  get  the  Doctor  up  to  spray  her  throat 
for  a  hoarseness,  and  I  remindin'  her  what  he'd 
said,  she  laughed  and  answered,  '  He  had  a  bear's 
manners,'  but  to  go  tell  him  she'd  pay  him  city 
prices,  and  she  bet  that  would  mend  him  and 
them ! " 

I  took  good  care  not  to  repeat  this  to  father,  for 
he  would  be  wounded.  He  is  beginning  to  see 
that  they  use  him  as  a  sort  of  ambulance  surgeon, 
but  he  does  not  yet  understand  the  absolute  money 
insolence  of  these  people  to  those  not  of  their 
"set,"  whom  they  consider  socially  or  financially 
beneath  them,  and  I  hope  he  never  may.  He  is 
so  full  of  good  will  to  all  men,  so  pitiful  toward 
weakness  and  sin,  and  has  kept  his  faith  in  human 
nature  through  thirty-five  years'  practice  in  a  factory 
town,  hospital  wards,  charcoal  camp,  and  among  the 
odd  characters  of  the  scattering  hillsides,  that  it 
would  be  an  undying  shame  to  have  it  shattered 


76    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

by  the  very  people  that  the  others  regard  with  hope- 
less envy. 

Shame  on  you,  Barbara,  but  you  are  growing 
bitter.  Yes,  I  know  you  do  not  yourself  mind 
left-handed  snubs  and  remarks  about  your  being 
"  comfortably  poor,"  but  you  won't  have  that  splen- 
did old  father  of  yours  put  upon  and  sneezed  at, 
with  cigarette  sneezes,  too.  You  should  realize  that 
they  don't  know  any  better,  also  that  presently  they 
may  become  dreadfully  bored  after  the  manner  of 
degenerates  and  move  away  from  the  Bluffs,  and 
then  companionable,  commuting,  or  summer  resi- 
dent people  will  have  a  chance  to  buy  their 
houses. 

Shrewd  Martha  Corkle  foresaw  the  probable  out- 
come the  day  that  the  foundation-stone  for  the  first 
cottage  was  laid,  even  before  our  prettiest  flower- 
hedged  lane  was  shorn  and  torn  up  to  make  it 
into  a  macadam  road,  in  order  to  shorten  the  time, 
for  motor  vehicles,  between  the  Bluffs  and  the  sta- 
tion by  possibly  three  minutes.  Not  that  the  people 
were  obliged  to  be  on  time  for  early  trains,  for  they 
are  mostly  the  reapers  of  other  people's  sowing; 
but  to  men  of  a  certain  calibre,  born  for  activity, 
the  feeling  that,  simply  for  the  pleasure  of  it,  they 
can  wait  until  the  very  latest  moment  and  still  get 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     77 

there,  is  an  amusement  savouring  of  both  chance  and 
power. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Evan,"  said  Martha,  with  as  much  of 
a  sniff  as  she  felt  compatible  with  her  dignity,  "  I 
knows  colernies  of  folks  not  born  to  or  loving  the 
soil,  but  just  trying  to  get  something  temporary  out 
o'  it  in  the  way  o'  pleasure,  as  rabbits,  or  mayhap 
bad  smelling  water  for  the  rheumatics.  (It  was  the 
waters  Lunnon  swells  came  for  down  on  the  old 
estate.)  To  my  thinkin'  these  pleasure  colernies  is 
bad  things ;  they  settles  as  senseless  as  a  swarm 
of  bees,  just  because  their  leader's  lit  there  first ; 
and  when  they've  buzzed  themselves  out  and  moved 
on,  like  as  not  some  sillies  as  has  come  gapin'  too 
close  is  bit  fatal  or  poisoned  for  life." 

Well-a-day !  Evan  says  that  I  take  things  to 
heart  that  belong  to  the  head  alone,  while  father 
says  that,  to  his  mind,  feeling  is  much  more  of  a 
need  to-day  than  logic;  so  what  can  I  do  but  still 
stumble  along  according  to  feeling. 

A  shout  from  beneath  the  window,  then  a  soft 
snowball  on  it,  the  signal  that  the  fort  is  finished, 
—  yes,  and  the  old  Christmas  tree  stuck  up  top 
as  a  standard.  Richard  has  built  a  queer-looking 
snow  man  with  red  knobs  all  over  his  chest  and 
stomach,  while  Ian  has  achieved  several  most  curi- 


78     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    ' 

ous  looking  things  with  carrot  horns,  —  whatever 
are  they  ?  Father  has  just  driven  in,  and  is  laugh- 
ing heartily,  and  Evan  is  waving  to  me. 

******* 

Calm  reigns  again.  The  fort  has  surrendered, 
the  final  charge  having  been  led  by  Corney  Delaney.. 
We've  had  hot  milk  all  around,  father  has  retired 
to  the  study  to  decipher  a  complicated  letter  from 
Aunt  Lot,  Evan  has  taken  the  boys  into  the  den 
for  a  drawing  lesson,  and  the  mystery  of  the  snow 
man  is  solved. 

We  do  not  intend  to  have  the  boys  learn  any  regu- 
lar lessons  before  another  fall,  but  for  the  last  two 
years  I  have  managed  that  they  should  sit  still  and 
be  occupied  with  something  every  morning,  so  that 
they  may  learn  how  to  keep  quiet  without  its  being 
a  strain,  —  shelling  peas,  cutting  papers  for  jelly 
pots,  stringing  popcorn  for  the  hospital  Christmas 
tree,  seeding  raisins  with  a  dozen  for  pay  at  the 
end  —  this  latter  is  an  heroic  feat  when  it  is  accom- 
plished without  drawing  the  pay  on  the  instalment 
plan  —  and  many  other  little  tasks,  varied  according 
to  season. 

Ian  has  a  quick  eye  and  comprehension,  and  he 
is  extremely  colour  sensitive,  but  healthily  ignorant 
of  book  learning,  while  Richard,  how  we  do  not 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     79 

know,  has  learned  to  read  in  a  fashion  of  his  own, 
not  seeming  yet  to  separate  letters  or  words,  but 
"  swallowing  the  sense  in  lumps,"  as  Martha  puts 
it. 

Yesterday,  before  our  return,  the  weather  being 
threatening,  and  the  boys,  keyed  for  mischief,  clam- 
ouring and  uneasy,  very  much  as  birds  and  animals 
are  before  a  storm,  father  invited  them  to  spend 
the  afternoon  with  him  in  the  study,  and  Martha 
Corkle,  who  mounts  guard  during  my  brief  holidays, 
saw  that  their  paws  were  scrubbed,  and  then  relaxed 
her  vigilance,  joining  Effie  in  the  sewing  room. 

After  many  three-cornered  discussions  as  to  what 
liberty  was  to  be  allowed  the  boys  in  study  and 
den,  we  decided  that  when  they  learned  to  respect 
books  in  the  handling  they  should  be  free  to 
browse  as  they  pleased ;  the  curiosities,  rarities,  and 
special  professional  literature,  being  behind  glass 
doors,  could  easily  be  protected  by  lock  and  key. 
Father's  theory  is  that  if  you  want  children  to  love 
books,  no  barriers  must  be  interposed  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  that  being  so  much  with  us  the  boys 
will  only  understand  what  is  suited  to  their  age, 
and  therefore  the  harmful  will  pass  them  by.  I 
was  never  shut  from  the  library  shelves,  or  mys- 
teries made  about  the  plain-spoken  literature  of 


80    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

other  days,  in  spite  of  Aunt  Lot's  fuming.  I  did 
not  understand  it,  so  it  did  not  tempt,  and  as  I 
look  back,  I  realize  that  the  book  of  life  was 
spread  before  me  wisely  and  gradually,  father  turn- 
ing page  after  page,  then  passing  the  task  to  Evan, 
so  that  I  never  had  a  shock  or  disillusionment. 

I  wonder  if  mother  had  lived  if  I  should  think 
differently,  and  be  more  apprehensive  about  the 
boys,  womanwise?  I  think  not;  for  I  am  a  sun- 
loving  Pagan  all  through,  really  born  far  back  in 
an  overlooked  corner  of  Eden,  and  I  prefer  the 
forceful  father  influence  that  teaches  one  to  over- 
come rather  than  the  mother  cult  which  is  to  bear, 
for  so  much  is  cumbrously  borne  in  self-glorified 
martyrdom  by  women  of  their  own  volition. 

I  know  that  I  am  very  primitive  in  my  instincts 
and  emotions;  so  are  the  boys,  and  that  keeps  us 
close,  or  so  close,  together. 

Of  course  illustrated  books  are  now  the  chief 
attraction  to  them  in  the  library,  and  yesterday, 
when  father  went  there  with  the  boys,  he  supplied 
Ian,  as  usual,  with  "  The  Uncivilized  Races  of  Man," 
which  always  opens  of  itself  at  the  Mumbo  Jumbo 
picture,  and  as  a  great  treat  for  Richard,  took  down 
the  three  quarto  volumes  of  Audubon's  "Quadru- 
peds," and  ranged  them  on  a  low  stand  with  a 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     81 

stool  in  front  of  it.  Then,  being  tired  after  a  hard 
morning's  work,  he  drew  his  big  leather  chair  near 
the  fire,  put  on  an  extra  log,  and  proceeded  to  — 
meditate.  You  will  doubtless  notice  that  when 
father  or  husband  close  their  eyes,  sitting  in  com- 
fortable chairs  by  the  fire,  they  are  always  medi- 
tating, and  never  sleeping,  little  nosey  protestations 
to  the  contrary. 

Father's  meditations  must  have  been  long  and 
deep,  for  when  he  was  startled  from  them  by  the 
breaking  in  two  of  the  hickory  log,  a  gory  spectacle 
met  his  eyes. 

Richard  was  sitting  on  the  hearth  rug,  which  he 
had  carefully  covered  with  newspapers ;  these,  as 
well  as  his  hands  and  face,  were  stained  a  deep 
crimson,  while  with  a  stout  silver  fruit-knife  he 
was  hacking  pieces  from  a  great  pulpy  red  mass 
before  him. 

Checking  an  exclamation  of  horror  father  started 
forward,  to  meet  Richard's  cheerful,  frank  gaze  and 
the  request,  as  he  dug  away  persistently,  to  "  Please 
wait  one  minute  more,  dranpa.  I've  got  the  heart 
all  done,  that  big  floppy  piece  is  lungs,  an'  I've 
most  made  the  liver.  Not  the  good  kind  that 
goes  wif  curly  bacon,  but  a  nasty  one  like  what  we 
wear  inside." 


82     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Then  spying  a  medical  chart  with  coloured  pic- 
tures that  was  propped  up  against  the  wood  box, 
father  found  the  clew,  and  comprehended  that 
Richard  was  giving  himself  a  practical  lesson  in 
anatomy  by  trying  to  carve  these  organs  from  a 
huge  mangel  wurzel  beet  that  he  had  rolled  in 
from,  the  root  cellar.  Did  father  scold  him  for 
mess-making,  or  laugh  at  his  attempt  that  had 
little  shape  except  in  his  own  baby  brain  ? 

No,  neither;  he  carefully  closed  the  door  against 
Martha's  possible  entrance,  seriously  and  respect- 
fully put  the  precious  objects  on  a  plate,  to  which 
he  gave  a  place  of  honour  on  the  mantel  shelf, 
and  after  removing  as  far  as  possible  all  traces  of 
beet  from  face  and  hands  in  his  sacred  office  lava- 
tory, he  took  Richard  with  him  into  the  depths  of 
the  great  chair  and  told  the  happy  child  his  favour- 
ite rigmarole,  all  about  the  "three  gentlemen  of 
high  degree,"  who  do  our  housework  for  us.  How 
the  lungs,  who  are  Siamese  twins,  called  to  the 
heart  to  pump  them  up  some  blood  to  air,  because 
they  were  almost  out  of  work,  and  how  the  big 
lazy  liver  lay  on  one  side  and  groaned  because  he 
had  drunk  too  much  coffee  for  breakfast,  and  had 
a  headache,  —  until  Richard  really  felt  that  he  had 
achieved  something.  So  the  first  thing  this  morning 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     83 

he  set  about  making  a  snow  man,  that  he  might 
put  the  beet  vitals  in  their  proper  places,  nearly 
convulsing  father  by  their  location.  Though,  as  he 
told  me,  they  were  accurate,  compared  to  the  ideas 
of  many  trained  nurses  with  whom  he  had  come  in 
contact. 

But  where  was  Ian  during  the  beet  carving? 
Father  quite  forgot  him  until,  Richard  falling  asleep 
in  his  arms,  he  arose  to  tuck  him  up  on  the  sofa. 
A  sound  of  the  slow  turning  of  large  pages  guided 
him  to  the  corner  by  the  bay  window  where  some 
bookcases,  standing  back  to  back,  made  a  sort  of 
alcove.  There  was  Ian,  flat  upon  his  stomach, 
while  before  him  the  "  Wandering  Jew "  legend, 
with  the  Dor6  pictures,  lay  open  at  the  final  scene 
-The  Last  Judgment  —  where  the  Jew,  his  journey 
over,  looks  up  at  the  angels  coming  to  greet  him, 
while  little  devils  pull  vainly  at  his  tattered  boots. 
It  was  not  the  Jew  or  the  angels,  however,  that 
held  lan's  attention,  and  whose  outlines  he  was 
tracing  with  his  forefinger,  but  the  devils,  one  big 
fellow  with  cows'  horns  and  wings  drooping  like 
those  of  a  moulting  crow,  and  a  bevy  of  imps 
with  young  horns  and  curly  tails  who  were  pulling 
a  half-buried  body  toward  the  fiery  pit  by  its  hair. 

Father  explained  the  pictures  in  brief,  and  closed 


84 

the  book  as  quickly  as  possible,  thinking  the  boy 
might  be  frightened  in  his  dreams  by  the  demons. 
But  no,  Ian  was  fascinated,  not  frightened.  He 
would  have  liked  the  pygmies  to  come  and  play 
with  him,  and  he  turned  to  father  with  a  sigh, 
saying,  "They're  bully  pullers,  dranpop.  I  guess 
if  they  and  me  pulled  against  Corney  Delaney  we 
could  get  him  over  the  line  all'  right,"  one  of  the 
boys'  favourite  pastimes  being  to  play  tug-of-war 
with  the  goat,  the  rope  being  fastened  to  its  horns, 
but  Corney  was  always  conqueror. 

Neither  did  Ian  forget  the  imps  quickly,  as  some 
children  do  their  impressions,  but  strove  to  model 
them  this  morning,  making  round  snow  bodies,  car- 
rot horns,  corncob  legs,  and  funny  celery  tails ;  the 
result  being  positively  startling  and  "  overmuch  like 
witch  brats,"  as  Effie  declared,  with  bulging  eyes. 

They  unfortunately  did  not  perish  with  the  fort, 
for  Richard  doesn't  like  them ;  but  are  now  huddled 
in  a  group  under  the  old  Christmas  tree,  where  Lark 
is  barking  at  them. 

*****## 

I  started  to  record  our  visit  to  Lavinia  Dorman, 
but  my  ''human  documents,"  printed  on  vellum, 
came  between,  and  I  would  not  miss  a  word  they 
have  to  say  for  the  "Mechlinia  Albertus  Magnus," 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     85 

which  father  says  is  the  rarest  book  in  the  world, 
though  Evan  disputes  his  preference,  and  Martin 
Cortright  would  doubtless  prefer  the  first  edition  of 
Denton's  "New  York." 

In  past  times,  when  we  have  visited  Miss  Lavinia, 
we  have  been  fairly  meek  and  decorous  guests,  fol- 
lowing the  programme  that  she  planned  with  such 
infinite  attention  to  detail  that  free  will  was  impos- 
sible, and  we  often  felt  like  paper  dolls. 

We  had  read  her  lament  on  the  death  of  socia- 
bility and  back  yards  with  many  a  smile,  and  a  sigh 
also,  for  to  one  born  in  the  pool,  every  ripple  that 
stirs  it  must  be  of  importance,  and  it  is  impos- 
sible for  outsiders  to  urge  her  to  step  out  of 
the  eddies  altogether  and  begin  anew,  for  New 
Yorkitis  seems  to  be  not  only  a  rarely  curable 
disease  to  those  who  have  it,  but  an  hereditary 
one  as  well. 

As  usual,  Evan  came  to  the  rescue,  as  we  sat  in  the 
den  the  night  before  our  departure.  "Let  us  turn 
tables  on  Miss  Lavinia  this  time  and  take  her  to 
see  our  New  York,"  he  said,  "since  we  are  all 
quite  tired  of  hers.  Do  you  remember  the  time 
when  we  went  to  town  to  buy  the  trappings  for 
the  boys'  first  tree  and  were  detained  until 
Christmas  morning  by  the  delay  of  a  cable  I  had 


86    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

to  wait  for  ?  After  dinner  Christmas  Eve  we  coaxed 
Miss  Lavinia  out  with  us  and  bought  half  a  bushel  of 
jolly  little  toys  from  street  fakirs  to  take  home,  and 
then  boarded  an  elevated  train  and  rode  about  the 
city  until  after  midnight,  in  and  out  the  downtown 
streets  and  along  the  outskirts,  to  see  all  the  poor 
people's  Christmas  trees  in  the  second  stories  of 
tenements,  cheap  flats,  and  over  little  shops.  How 
she  enjoyed  it,  and  said  that  she  never  dreamed 
that  tenement  people  could  be  so  happy;  and  she 
finally  waxed  so  enthusiastic  that  she  gave  a  silver 
half  dollar  each  to  four  little  newsboys  crouching 
over  the  steam  on  a  grating  in  Twenty-third  Street, 
and  when  they  cheered  her  and  a  policeman  came 
along,  we  told  the  dear  old  soul  that  he  evidently 
thought  her  a  suspicious  character,  a  counterfeiter 
at  the  very  least.  And  she  always  spoke  afterward 
with  bated  breath  on  the  dangers  of  the  streets 
late  at  night,  and  her  narrow  escape  from  arrest. 
We  came  to  New  York  unsated  and  without  re- 
sponsibilities to  push  us,  and  looked  from  the  out- 
side in. 

"  No,  Barbara,  you  did  better  than  you  knew  that 
day  six  years  ago,  when  we  sat  in  the  Somerset 
garden,  and  you  persuaded  me  to  become  a  com- 
muter and  let  you  plant  a  garden,  promising  never 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL     87 

to  talk  about  servants,  and  you've  kept  your  word. 
I  was  dubious  then,  but  now  —  if  you  only  knew 
the  tragedies  I've  seen  among  men  of  my  means 
and  aims  these  last  few  years,  the  struggle  to  be 
in  the  swim,  or  rather  the  backwater  of  it.  The 
disappointment,  the  debt  and  despair,  the  pink  teas 
and  blue  dinners  given  in  cramped  flats,  the  good 
fellows  afraid  to  say  no  to  wives  whose  hearts  are 
set  on  being  thought  'in  it,'  and  the  wives,  haggard 
and  hollow-eyed  because  the  husbands  wish  to  keep 
the  pace  by  joining  clubs  that  are  supposedly  the 
hall-marks  of  the  millionnaire.  New  York  is  the 
best  place  for  doing  everything  in  but  three  —  to 
be  born  in,  to  live  in,  and  to  die  in." 

"  So  you  wish  us  to  play  bachelor  girl  and  man 
for  a  few  days,  and  herd  Miss  Lavinia  about,  which 
I  suppose  is  the  pith  of  these  heroics  of  yours,"  I 
said,  rather  astonished,  for  Evan  seldom  preaches. 
"  I  never  knew  that  you  were  such  an  anti-whirl- 
pooler  before,  and  I've  at  times  felt  selfish  about 
keeping  you  at  the  old  home,  though  not  since  the 
boys  came,  it's  so  healthy  for  them,  bless  them. 
Now  I  feel  quite  relieved,"  and  I  arranged  a  little 
crisp  curl  that  will  break  loose  in  spite  of  persist- 
ent wetting,  for  men  always  seem  to  discourage 
curly  hair,  father  keeping  his  shorn  like  a  prize- 


88    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

fighter.  This  curl  softens  the  rigour  of  Evan's 
horseshoe  scowl,  and  when  I  fix  it  gives  him  a 
chance  to  put  his  arm  around  my  waist,  which  is 
the  only  satisfactory  way  of  discussing  plans  for  a 
pleasure  trip. 

We  arrived  in  town  duly  a  little  before  dinner  time. 
It  is  one  of  Evan's  comfortable  travelling  habits,  this 
always  arriving  at  a  new  place  at  the  end  of  day,  so  as 
to  get  the  bearings  and  be  adjusted  when  we  awake 
next  morning.  To  arrive  in  the  morning,  when  pay- 
ing a  visit  especially,  is  reversing  the  natural  order 
of  things ;  you  are  absent-minded  until  lunch,  sleepy 
all  the  afternoon,  dyspeptic  at  dinner,  when,  like  as 
not,  some  one  you  have  wholly  forgotten  or  hoped 
to  is  asked  to  meet  you.  If  the  theatre  follows,  you 
recuperate,  but  if  it  is  cards  (of  which  I  must  have 
a  prenatal  hatred,  it  is  so  intense)  with  the  apology, 
"  I  thought  you  might  be  tired  and  prefer  a  cosey 
game  of  whist  to  going  out,"  you  trump  your  partner's 
tricks,  lead  the  short  suits  and  mix  clubs  and  spades 
with  equal  oblivion,  and,  finally,  going  to  bed,  leave  a 
bad  impression  behind  that  causes  your  hostess  to  say, 
strictly  to  herself,  if  she  is  charitable,  "  How  Barbara 
has  deteriorated ;  she  used  to  be  a  good  talker,  but 
then,  poor  dear,  living  in  the  country  is  so  nar- 
rowing." 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     89 

Of  course  if  you  merely  go  away  to  spend  the  day 
it  is  different ;  you  generally  keep  on  the  move  and 
go  home  to  recover  from  it.  And  how  men  usually 
hate  staying  in  other  people's  houses,  no  matter  how 
wide  they  keep  their  doors  open  or  how  hospitably 
inclined  they  may  be  themselves.  They  seem  to  be 
self-conscious,  and  are  constrained  to  alter  their  ordi- 
nary habits,  which  makes  them  miserable  and  feel 
as  if  they  had  given  up  their  free  will  and  identity. 
There  are  only  two  places  that  I  ever  dream  of  taking 
Evan,  and  Lavinia  Dorman's  is  one  of  them. 

When  we  had  made  ourselves  smart  for  dinner  and 
joined  Miss  Lavinia  by  the  fire  in  her  tiny  library,  we 
read  by  her  hair  that  she  was  evidently  intending  to 
stay  at  home  that  evening,  for  her  head  has  its  nodes 
like  the  moon.  She  has  naturally  pretty,  soft  wavy 
hair,  with  now  and  then  a  silver  streak  running 
through  it.  I  have  often  seen  Lucy  when  she  brushes 
it  out  at  night.  But  because  there  is  a  dash  of  white 
in  the  front  as  if  a  powder  puff  had  rested  there  a 
moment  by  accident,  it  is  screwed  into  a  little  knob 
and  covered  with  skilfully  made  yet  perfectly  appar- 
ent frontlets  to  represent  the  different  styles  of  hair- 
dressing  affected  by  women  of  abundant  locks. 

No.  i,  worn  at  breakfast,  is  the  most  reasonable. 
It  is  quite  plain,  slightly  waved,  and  has  a  few  stray 


90    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

hairs  carelessly  curved  where  it  joins  the  forehead. 
No.  2  is  for  rainy  weather ;  the  curls  are  fuzzy  and 
evidently  baked  in ;  it  requires  a  durable  veil  to  keep 
it  in  countenance.  Evan  calls  it  the  "  rasher  of  bacon 
front."  No.  3  is  for  calling  and  all  entertainments 
where  the  bonnet  stays  on ;  it  has  a  baby  bang  edge 
a  trifle  curled  and  a  substantial  cushion  atop  to  hold 
the  hat  pins ;  while  No.  4,  the  one  she  wore  on  our 
arrival,  is  an  elaborate  evening  toupie  with  a  pompa- 
dour rolling  over  on  itself  and  drooping  slightly  over 
one  eye  while  it  melts  into  a  butterfly  bow  and  hand 
ful  of  puffs  on  the  crown  that  in  turn  end  in  a  single 
curl  behind. 

We  had  a  dainty  little  dinner,  grape  fruit,  clear 
soup,  smelts,  wild  duck,  salad,  fruit,  and  coffee,  and 
it  was  daintily  served,  for  Miss  Lavinia  always  keeps 
a  good  cook  and  remembers  our  dislike  of  the  various 
forms  of  hash  known  as  entries. 

The  coffee  was  placed  on  a  low  mahogany  stand 
by  the  library  fire,  and  Miss  Lavinia  herself  handed 
Evan  a  quaint  little  silver  lamp  by  which  to  light  his 
cigar,  for  she  has  all  the  cosmopolitan  instincts  of  a 
woman  who  not  only  knows  the  world  but  had  heard 
her  father  discuss  tobacco,  and  really  enjoyed  the 
soothing  fragrance  of  a  good  cigar. 

As   soon    as   we   were   settled    and    poor    singed 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL    91 

Josephus  had  tiptoed  in  by  the  fire,  evidently  trying 
to  make  up  for  his  shabby  coat  by  the  profundity  of 
his  purr,  Evan  set  forth  his  scheme  to  our  hostess. 
We  were  to  lodge  and  breakfast  with  her,  but  after 
that  she  was  to  play  our  way,  and  be  at  our  disposal 
morning,  afternoon,  and  evening,  at  luncheon,  dinner, 
and  supper,  and  the  game  was  to  be  the  old-fashioned 
one  of  "  follow  the  leader !  " 

At  first  Miss  Lavinia  hesitated  regretfully,  it 
seemed  so  inhospitable,  —  she  had  thought  to  take 
us  to  several  parlour  concerts.  Mrs.  Vanderdonk, 
she  that  was  a  De  Leyster,  was  going  to  throw  open 
her  picture  gallery  for  charity,  which  would  give  us 
an  opportunity  to  see  her  new  house.  In  fact  the 
undertow  of  the  Whirlpool  was  still  pulling  at  her 
ankles,  even  though  she  had  freed  her  head,  and  it 
seemed  impossible  to  her  that  there  could  be  any 
New  York  other  than  the  one  she  knew. 

Finally  her  almost  girlish  vitality  asserted  itself, 
and  bargaining  that  we  should  allow  her  one  evening 
to  have  Sylvia  Latham  to  dinner,  she  surrendered. 

"Then  we  will  begin  at  once  by  going  to  the 
theatre,"  said  Evan,  jumping  up  and  looking  at  the 
clock,  which  pointed  at  a  few  minutes  of  eight. 

"  Have  you  tickets  ?  Isn't  this  a  little  sudden  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Lavinia  with  a  little  gasp,  evidently 


92     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

remembering  that  her  hair  was  arranged  for  the 
house  only. 

"  No,  I  have  no  tickets,  but  Barbara  and  I  always 
go  in  this  way,  and  if  we  cannot  get  in  at  one  place 
we  try  another,  for  usually  some  good  seats  are 
returned  from  the  outside  ticket  offices  a  few  minutes 
before  the  play  begins.  The  downtown  theatres 
open  the  earliest,  so  we  can  start  near  by  and  work 
our  way  upward,  if  necessary." 

To  my  surprise  in  five  minutes  Miss  Lavinia  was 
ready,  and  we  sallied  forth,  Evan  sandwiched  between 
us.  As  the  old  Dorman  house  is  in  the  northeastern 
corner  of  what  was  far  away  Greenwich  Village,  —  at 
the  time  the  Bouerie  was  a  blooming  orchard,  and  is 
meshed  in  by  a  curious  jumble  of  thoroughfares,  that 
must  have  originally  either  followed  the  tracks  of 
wandering  cattle  or  worthy  citizens  who  had  lost 
their  bearings,  for  Waverley  Place  comes  to  an  un- 
timely end  in  West  Eleventh  Street,  and  Fourth 
Street  collides  with  Horatio  and  is  headed  off  by 
Thirteenth  Street  before  it  has  a  chance  even  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  river,  —  a  few  steps  brought  us  into 
Fourteenth  Street,  where  flaming  gas-jets  announced 
that  the  play  of  "Jim  Bludso"  might  be  seen. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  ejaculated  Miss  Lavinia,  "  do  people 
still  go  to  this  theatre  ?  The  last  time  I  came  here 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    93 

it  was  in  the  seventies  to  see  Mrs.  Rousby  as 
Rosalind." 

When  we  took  our  seats  the  play,  founded,  as  the 
bill  informed  us,  upon  one  of  the  Pike  County 
Ballads,  had  begun,  and  Miss  Lavinia  soon  became 
absorbed. 

It  is  a  great  deal  to  be  surrounded  by  an  audience 
all  thoroughly  in  the  mood  to  be  swayed  by  the  emo- 
tion of  the  piece,  plain  people,  perhaps,  but  solidly 
honest.  Directly  in  front  sat  a  young  couple ;  the 
girl,  in  a  fresh  white  silk  waist,  wore  so  fat  and  new 
a  wedding  ring  upon  her  ungloved  hand,  which  the 
man  held  in  a  tight  grip,  that  I  surmised  that  this 
trip  into  stageland  was  perhaps  their  humble  wedding 
journey,  from  which  they  would  return  to  "  rooms  " 
made  ready  by  jubilant  relatives,  eat  a  wonderful 
supper,  and  begin  life. 

The  next  couple  were  not  so  entirely  en  rapport. 
The  girl,  who  wore  a  gorgeous  garnet  engagement 
ring,  also  very  new,  merely  rested  her  hand  on 
her  lover's  coat  sleeve  where  she  could  see  the  light 
play  upon  the  stones. 

When,  after  the  first  act,  in  answer  to  hearty 
rounds  of  applause,  varied  with  whistles  and  shouts 
from  the  gallery,  the  characters  stepped  forward,  not 
in  the  unnatural  string  usual  in  more  genteel  play- 


94    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

houses,  where  victor  and  vanquished  join  hands  and 
bow,  but  one  by  one,  each  being  greeted  by  cheers, 
hisses,  or  groans,  according  to  the  part,  and  when  the 
villain  appeared  I  found  myself  groaning  with  the 
rest,  and  though  Evan  laughed,  I  know  he  under- 
stood. 

After  it  was  over,  as  we  went  out  into  the  night, 
Evan  headed  toward  Sixth  Avenue  instead  of  home- 
ward. 

"  May  I  ask  where  we  are  going  now  ? "  said  Miss 
Lavinia,  meekly.  She  had  really  enjoyed  the  play, 
and  I  know  I  heard  her  sniff  once  or  twice  at  the 
proper  time,  though  of  course  I  pretended  not  to. 

"Going  ? "  echoed  Evan.  "  Only  around  the  corner 
to  get  three  fries  in  a  box,  with  the  usual  pickle  and 
cracker  trimmings,  there  being  no  restaurant  close 
by  that  you  would  care  for ;  then  we  will  carry  them 
home  and  have  a  little  supper  in  the  pantry,  if  your 
Lucy  has  not  locked  up  the  forks  and  taken  the  key 
to  bed.  If  she  has,  we  can  use  wooden  toothpicks." 

At  first  Miss  Lavinia  seemed  to  feel  guilty  at 
the  idea  of  disturbing  Lucy's  immaculate  pantry  at 
such  an  hour;  but  liberty  is  highly  infectious.  She 
had  spent  the  evening  out  without  previous  intent ; 
the  next  step  was  to  feel  that  her  soul  was  her  own 
on  her  return.  She  unlocked  the  forks,  Evan  un- 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    95 

packed  the  upstairs  ice-chest  for  the  dog's  head 
bass  that  wise  women  always  have  when  they  ex- 
pect visiting  Englishmen,  even  though  they  are 
transplanted  and  acclimated  ones,  and  she  ate  the 
oysters,  still  steaming  from  their  original  package, 
with  great  satisfaction.  After  we  had  finished  Miss 
Lavinia  bravely  declared  her  independence  of  Lucy. 
The  happy  don't-care  feeling  produced  by  broiled 
oysters  and  bass  on  a  cold  night  is  a  perfect  revela- 
tion to  people  used  to  after-theatre  suppers  composed 
of  complications,  sticky  sweets,  and  champagne. 

When  we  had  finished  I  thought  for  a  moment  that 
she  showed  a  desire  to  conceal  the  invasion  by  wash- 
ing the  dishes,  but  she  put  it  aside,  and  we  all  went 
upstairs  together. 

A  little  shopping  being  in  order,  Evan  took  him- 
self off  in  the  morning,  leaving  Miss  Lavinia  and 
me  to  prowl,  after  we  had  promised  to  meet  him  at  a 
downtown  restaurant  at  one. 

Little  boys  are  delightful  things  to  shop  for, — 
there  is  no  matching  this  and  that,  no  getting  a  yard 
too  much  or  too  little,  everything  is  substantial  and 
straight  away,  and  all  you  have  to  do  when  the 
bundles  are  sent  home  by  express  is  to  strengthen 
the  sewing  on  of  buttons  and  reinforce  the  seats  and 
knees  of  everyday  pantikins  from  the  inside. 


96     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

We  strolled  about  slowly,  and  at  half  past  one 
were  quite  ready  to  sit  still  and  not  only  eat  our  lunch 
but  watch  business  mankind  eat  his.  If  any  one 
wishes  to  feel  the  clutch  and  motive  power  of  the 
Whirlpool  let  him  go  to  the  Mazarin  any  time  between 
twelve-thirty  and  two  o'clock.  The  streets  themselves 
are  surging  with  men,  all  hurrying  first  in  one  direc- 
tion, then  another,  until  it  seems  as  if  there  either  must 
be  a  fire  somewhere,  or  else  a  riot  afoot.  The  doors 
of  the  restaurant  open  and  shut  incessantly,  corks 
pop,  knives  and  forks  rattle,  everything  is  being 
served  from  a  sandwich  and  a  glass  of  beer  to  an 
elaborate  repast  with  a  wine  to  every  course,  while 
through  and  above  it  all  the  stress  of  business  is  felt. 
Of  course  the  great  financiers  usually  have  luncheon 
served  in  their  offices,  to  save  them  from  the  crowd  ; 
besides,  it  might  give  common  humanity  a  chance  to 
scrutinize  their  countenances,  and  perchance  read 
what  they  thought  upon  some  question  of  moment, 
for  it  sometimes  seems  as  if  the  eye  of  the  New 
York  journalist  has  X-ray  power.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  humbler  grade,  with  less  of  either  time  or 
money  to  spare,  go  to  the  "  quick  lunch  "  counters 
and  "  dime-in-the-slot "  sandwich  concerns ;  yet  Evan 
says  that  the  gathering  at  the  Mazarin  is  fairly 
representative. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    97 

Miss  Lavinia  was  bewildered.  Her  downtown 
visits  to  her  broker's  office  were  always  made  in  a 
cab,  with  Lucy  to  stay  in  it  as  a  preventative  of  the 
driver's  taking  a  sly  glass  or  a  thief  snatching  her 
lap-robe  —  she  never  uses  public  carriage  rugs.  She 
clung  to  the  obsolete  idea  that  Wall  Street  was  no 
place  for  women,  and  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  the  daintily 
dressed  stenographers,  bookkeepers,  and  confidential 
clerks  mingling  with  the  trousered  ranks  in  the 
street,  not  to  mention  the  damsels  in  tidy  shirtwaists, 
with  carefully  undulated  hair  and  pointed,  polished 
finger  nails,  who  were  lunching  at  near-by  tables, 
sometimes  seemingly  with  their  employers  as  well  as 
with  other  male  or  female  friends. 

"  I  wonder  how  much  of  all  this  is  bad  for  uptown 
home  life  ? "  Miss  Lavinia  queried,  gazing  around 
the  room ;  but  as  she  did  not  address  either  of  us  in 
particular,  we  did  not  answer,  as  we  did  not  know,  — 
who  does  ? 

A  spare  half -hour  before  closing  time  we  gave  to 
the  Stock  Exchange,  and  it  was  quite  enough,  for 
some  one  was  short  on  something,  and  pandemonium 
reigned.  As  we  stood  on  the  corner  of  Rector 
Street  and  Broadway,  hesitating  whether  to  take 
surface  or  elevated  cars,  faint  strains  of  organ  music 
from  Trinity  attracted  us. 


98     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  Service  or  choir  practice ;  let  us  go  in  a  few 
moments,"  said  Evan,  to  whom  the  organ  is  a  voice 
that  never  fails  to  draw. 

We  took  seats  far  back,  and  lost  ourselves  among 
the  shadows.  A  special  service  was  in  progress,  the 
music  half  Gregorian,  and  the  congregation  was  too 
scattered  to  mar  the  feeling  that  we  had  slipped 
suddenly  out  of  the  material  world.  The  shadows 
of  the  sparrows  outside  flitted  upward  on  the 
stained  glass  windows,  until  it  seemed  as  if  the 
great  chords  had  broken  free  and  taking  form  were 
trying  to  escape. 

Now  and  then  the  door  would  open  softly  and 
unaccustomed  figures  slip  in  and  linger  in  the  open 
space  behind  the  pews.  Aliens,  newly  landed  and 
wandering  about  in  the  vicinity  of  their  water-front 
lodging-houses,  music  and  a  church  appealed  to  their 
loneliness.  Some  stood,  heads  bowed,  and  some 
knelt  in  prayer  and  crossed  themselves  on  leaving ; 
one  woman,  lugging  a  great  bundle  tied  in  a  blue 
cloth,  a  baby  on  her  arm  and  another  clinging  to  her 
skirts,  put  down  her  load,  bedded  the  baby  upon  it, 
and  began  to  tell  her  beads. 

The  service  ended,  and  the  people  scattered,  but 
the  organist  played  on,  and  the  boy  choir  regathered, 
but  less  formally. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL    99 

"What  is  it?"  we  asked  of  the  verger,  who  was 
preparing  to  close  the  doors. 

"There  will  be  a  funeral  of  one  of  the  oldest 
members  of  the  congregation  to-morrow,  and  they 
are  about  to  go  through  the  music  of  the  office." 

Suddenly  a  rich  bass  voice,  strong  in  conviction, 
trumpeted  forth  —  "I  am  the  resurrection  and  the 
life ! "  And  only  a  stone's  throw  away  jingled  the 
money  market  of  the  western  world.  The  temple 
and  the  table  of  the  money  changers  keep  step  as 
of  old.  Ah,  wonderful  New  York ! 

******* 

The  afternoon  was  clear  staccato  and  mild  withal, 
and  the  sun,  almost  at  setting,  lingered  above  orange 
and  dim  cloud  banks  at  the  end  of  the  vista  Broad- 
way made. 

"Are  you  tired?  Can  you  walk  half  a  dozen 
blocks  ? "  asked  Evan  of  Miss  Lavinia,  as  we  came 
out. 

"  No,  quite  the  reverse ;  I  think  that  I  am  elec- 
trified," she  replied  briskly. 

"Then  we  will  go  to  Battery  Park,"  he  said, 
turning  south. 

"  Battery  Park,  where  all  the  immigrants  and 
roughs  congregate !  What  an  idea !  We  shall  catch 
smallpox  or  have  our  pockets  picked  1 " 


ioo    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  Have  you  ever  been  there  ? "  persisted  Evan. 

"Yes,  once,  I  think,  when  steamship  passengers 
landed  at  the  barge  office,  and  of  course  I've  seen 
it  often  in  going  to  Staten  Island  to  visit  Cousin 
Lucretia." 

Evan's  only  reply  was  to  keep  on  walking.  We 
did  not  cross  the  "bowling  green,"  but  swung  to 
the  right  toward  Pier  i,  and  took  the  path  between 
old  Castle  Garden  and  the  sea  wall  at  the  point 
where  one  of  the  fire  patrol  boats  was  resting, 
steam  up  and  hose  nozzles  pointed,  lance  couchant 
wise. 

Ah,  what  a  picture !  No  wonder  Miss  Lavinia 
adjusted  her  glasses  quickly  (she  is  blindly  near- 
sighted), caught  her  breath,  and  clung  to  Evan's 
arm  as  the  fresh  sea  breeze  coming  up  from  the 
Narrows  wheeled  her  about.  Before  us  Staten 
Island  divided  the  water  left  and  right,  while  be- 
tween it  and  the  Long  Island  shore,  just  leaving 
quarantine  and  dwarfing  the  smaller  craft,  an  ocean 
liner,  glistening  with  ice,  was  coming  on  in  majestic 
haste.  All  about  little  tugs  puffed  and  snorted,  and 
freighters  passed  crosswise,  parting  the  floating  ice 
and  churning  it  with  their  paddles,  scarcely  disturb- 
ing the  gulls,  that  flew  so  close  above  the  water 
that  their  wings  touched,  or  floated  at  leisure. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL     101 

The  sun  that  had  been  gilding  everything  from 
masthead  to  floating  spar  gathered  in  its  forces, 
and  for  one  moment  seemed  to  rest  upon  Liberty's 
torch,  throwing  the  statue  into  clear  relief,  and  then 
dropped  rapidly  behind  the  river's  night-cloud  bank, 
and  presently  lights  began  to  glimmer  far  and  near, 
the  night  breath  rose  from  the  water,  and  the  wave- 
cradled  gulls  slept. 

"  Do  you  like  our  New  York  ? "  asked  Evan, 
turning  to  go. 

"  Don't  speak,"  whispered  Miss  Lavinia,  hanging 
back. 

But  we  were  no  sooner  on  the  elevated  train 
than  she  found  use  for  her  tongue,  for  whose  feet 
should  I  stumble  over  on  entering,  quite  big  feet 
too,  or  rather  shoes,  for  the  size  of  the  man,  but 
Martin  Cortright's,  and  of  course  he  was  duly  pre- 
sented to  Miss  Lavinia. 


FEBRUARY  VIOLETS 

That  night  Miss  Lavinia  was  forced  to  ask  "  for 
time  for  '  forty  winks  '  "  before  she  could  even  think 
of  dinner,  and  Evan  and  I  sat  them  out  in  the  deep, 
hospitable  chairs  by  the  library  fire.  We  were  not 
tired,  simply  held  in  check ;  country  vitality  shut  off 
from  certain  ways  for  six  months  is  not  quickly 
exhausted,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  when  it  is  spent,  it 
takes  several  months  to  recuperate. 

The  first  night  that  I  leave  home  for  these  little  ex- 
cursions I  have  a  sense  of  virtue  and  simmering  self- 
congratulation.  I  feel  that  I  am  doing  a  sensible  thing 
in  making  a  break  from  what  the  theorists  call  "  the 
narrowing  evenness  of  domestic  existence."  Of  course 
it  is  a  good  thing  for  me  to  leave  father  and  the  boys, 
and  see  and  hear  something  new  to  take  back  report 
of  to  them ;  it  is  better  for  them  to  be  taught  appreci- 
ation of  me  by  absence ;  change  is  beneficial  to  every 
one,  etc.,  etc.,  and  all  that  jargon. 

The  second  night  I  am  still  true  to  the  theory,  but 

IO2 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     103 

am  convinced  that  to  the  highly  imaginative,  a  city 
day  and  its  doings  may  appear  like  the  Biblical  idea 
of  eternity  —  reversed  —  "a  thousand  years." 

The  third  night  I  am  painfully  sure  of  this,  and  if  I 
remain  away  over  a  fourth,  which  is  very  rare,  I  cast 
the  whole  theory  out  to  the  winds  of  scepticism,  and 
am  so  restless  and  disagreeable  that  Evan  usually  sug- 
gests that  I  take  a  morning  train  home  and  do  not 
wait  for  him,  which  is  exactly  the  responsibility  that 
I  wish  him  to  assume,  thus  saving  me  from  absolute 
surrender. 

We  always  have  a  good  time  on  our  outings,  and 
yet  after  each  the  pleasure  of  return  grows  keener, 
so  that  occasionally  Evan  remonstrates  and  says : 
"  Sometimes  I  cannot  understand  your  attitude ;  you 
appear  to  enjoy  every  moment  keenly,  and  yet  when 
you  go  home  you  act  as  if  you  had  mercifully  escaped 
from  a  prison  that  necessitated  going  through  a  sort 
of  thanksgiving  ceremony.  It  seems  very  irrational." 

But  when  I  ask  him  if  it  would  be  more  rational  to 
be  sorry  to  come  home,  he  does  not  answer,  —  at 
least  not  in  words. 

"  Where  do  we  dine  to-night  ?  "  I  asked  Evan,  as  he 
was  giving  unmistakable  signs  of  "  meditation,"  and 
I  heard  by  the  footsteps  overhead  that  Miss  Lavinia 
was  stirring. 


104     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  At  the  Art  and  Nature  Club.  You  can  dress  as 
much  or  as  little  as  you  please,  and  we  can  get  a  table 
in  a  cosey  corner,  and  afterward  sit  about  upstairs  for 
an  hour,  for  there  will  be  music  to-night.  I  have 
asked  Martin  Cortright  to  join  us.  It  has  its  interest- 
ing side,  this — a  transplanted  Englishman  married  to 
a  country  girl  introducing  old  bred-in-the-bone  New 
Yorkers  to  New  Manhattan." 

When  I  go  to  town  my  costuming  consists  merely 
in  change  of  waists,  as  street  and  public  conveyances 
alike  are  a  perpetual  menace  to  one's  best  petticoats, 
so  in  a  few  moments  we  were  on  our  way  uptown. 

We  did  not  tell  Miss  Lavinia  where  we  were  going 
until  we  were  almost  there,  and  she  was  quite  upset, 
as  dining  at  the  two  or  three  hotels  and  other  places 
affected  by  the  Whirlpoolers  implies  a  careful  and 
special  toilet  to  run  the  gantlet  of  society  reporters, 
fpr  every  one  is  somebody  in  one  sense,  though  in 
another  "  nobody  is  really  any  one.  " 

She  was  reassured,  however,  the  moment  that  she 
drew  her  high-backed  oak  chair  up  to  the  table  that 
Evan  had  reserved  in  a  little  alcove  near  the  fireplace. 
Before  the  oysters  arrived,  and  Martin  Cortright 
appeared  to  fill  the  fourth  seat,  she  had  completely 
relaxed,  and  was  beaming  at  the  brass  jugs  and  pottery 
beakers  ranged  along  a  shelf  above  the  dark  wainscot, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     105 

and  at  the  general  company,  while  the  warmth  from 
the  fire  logs  gave  her  really  a  very  pretty  colour,  and 
she  began  to  question  Martin  as  to  who  all  these 
people,  indicating  the  rapidly  filling-up  tables,  were. 
But  Martin  gazed  serenely  about  and  confessed  he 
did  not  know. 

The  people  came  singly,  or  in  twos  and  threes,  men 
and  women  together  or  alone,  a  fact  at  which  Miss 
Lavinia  greatly  marvelled.  Greetings  were  exchanged, 
and  there  was  much  visiting  from  table  to  table,  as  if 
the  footing  was  that  of  a  private  house. 

"  Nice-looking  people,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  medita- 
tively scrutinizing  the  room  through  her  lorgnette 
without  a  trace  of  snobbery  in  her  voice  or  attitude, 
yet  I  was  aware  that  she  was  mentally  drawing  her- 
self apart.  "  Some  of  them  quite  unusual,  but  there 
is  not  a  face  here  that  I  ever  saw  in  society.  Are 
they  members  of  the  Club  ?  Where  do  they  come 
from  ?  Where  do  they  live  ?  " 

Evan's  lips  shut  together  a  moment  before  he 
answered,  and  I  saw  a  certain  steely  gleam  in  his 
eye  that  I  always  regarded  as  a  danger  signal. 

"  Perhaps  they  might  ask  the  same  questions  about 
you,"  he  answered  ;  "  though  they  are  not  likely  to, 
their  world  is  so  much  broader.  They  are  men  and 
women  chiefly  having  an  inspiration,  an  art  or  craft, 


io6     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

or  some  vital  reason  for  living  besides  the  mere  fact 
that  it  has  become  a  habit.  They  are  none  of  them 
rich  enough  to  be  disagreeable  or  feel  that  they  own 
the  right  to  trample  on  their  fellows.  They  all  live 
either  in  or  near  New  York,  as  best  suits  their  means, 
vocations,  and  temperaments.  Men  and  women  to- 
gether, they  represent,  as  well  as  a  gathering  can,  the 
hopeful  spirit  of  our  New  York  of  New  Manhattan 
that  does  not  grovel  to  mere  money  power." 

Miss  Lavinia  seemed  a  little  abashed,  but  Martin 
Cortright,  who  had  been  a  silent  observer  until  now, 
said :  "  It  surprises  me  to  see  fraternity  of  this  sort 
in  the  midst  of  so  many  institutions  of  specialized 
exclusiveness  and  the  decadence  of  clubs,  that  used 
to  be  veritable  brotherhoods,  by  unwise  expansion.  I 
like  the  general  atmosphere,  it  seems  cheerful  and,  if 
one  may  blend  the  terms,  conservatively  Bohemian." 

"  Come  upstairs  before  the  music  begins,  so  that 
we  can  get  comfortably  settled  in  the  background, 
that  I  may  tell  you  who  some  of  these  '  unknown-to- 
Whirlpool-society '  people  are.  You  may  be  sur- 
prised," said  Evan  to  Miss  Lavinia,  who  had  by  this 
time  finished  her  coffee. 

The  rooms  were  cheerful  with  artistic  simplicity. 
The  piano  had  been  moved  from  the  lounging  room 
into  the  picture  gallery  opposite  to  where  a  fine 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     107 

stained  glass  window  was  exhibited,  backed  by  elec- 
tric lights. 

We  stowed  ourselves  away  in  a  deep  seat,  shaped 
something  like  an  old-fashioned  school  form,  backed 
and  cushioned  with  leather,  to  watch  the  audience 
gather.  Every  phase  of  dress  was  present,  from  the 
ball  gown  to  the  rainy  weather  skirt,  and  enough  of 
each  grade  to  keep  one  another  in  countenance. 
About  half  the  men  wore  evening  suits,  but  those 
who  did  not  were  completely  at  their  ease. 

There  was  no  regular  ushering  to  seats,  but  every 
one  was  placed  easily  and  naturally.  Evan,  who  had 
Miss  Lavinia  in  charge,  was  alert,  and  rather,  it 
seemed  to  me,  on  the  defensive ;  but  though  Martin 
asked  questions,  he  was  comfortably  soothing,  and 
seemed  to  take  in  much  at  a  glance. 

That  short  man  with  the  fine  head,  white  hair  and 
beard,  aquiline  nose,  and  intense  eyes  is  not  only  a 
poet,  but  the  first  American  critic  of  pure  literature. 
He  lives  out  of  town,  but  comes  to  the  city  daily  for  a 
certain  stimulus.  The  petite  woman  with  the  pretty 
colour  who  has  crossed  the  room  to  speak  to  him  is 
the  best  known  writer  of  New  England  romance. 
That  shy-looking  fellow  standing  against  the  curtain 
at  your  right,  with  the  brown  mustache  and  broad 
forehead,  is  the  New  England  sculptor  whose  forci- 


io8     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

ble  creations  are  known  everywhere,  yet  he  is  almost 
shrinkingly  modest,  and  he  never,  it  seems,  even  in 
thought,  has  broken  the  injunction  of  "  Let  another 
praise  thee,  not  thine  own  lips." 

Half  a  dozen  promising  painters  are  standing  in 
the  doorway  talking  to  a  young  woman  who,  begin- 
ning with  newspaper  work,  has  stepped  suddenly  into 
a  niche  of  fiction.  The  tall,  loose-jointed  man  at  the 
left  of  the  group,  the  editor  of  a  conservative  monthly, 
has  for  his  vis-a-vis  the  artist  who  has  had  so  much  to 
do  with  the  redemption  of  American  architecture  and 
decoration  from  the  mongrel  period  of  the  middle  cen- 
tury. Another  night  you  may  not  see  a  single  one  of 
these  faces,  but  another  set,  yet  equally  interesting. 

Meanwhile  Martin  Cortright  had  discovered  a  man, 
a  financier  and  also  a  book  collector  of  prominence, 
who  was  reputed  to  have  a  complete  set  of  some 
early  records  that  he  had  long  wished  to  consult ;  he 
had  never  found  a  suitable  time  for  meeting  him,  as 
the  man,  owing  to  having  been  oftentime  the  prey  of 
both  unscrupulous  dealers  and  parasitic  friends,  was 
esteemed  difficult. 

Infected  by  the  freedom  of  his  surroundings, 
Martin  plucked  up  courage  and  spoke  to  him,  the 
result  being  an  interchange  of  cards,  book  talk,  and 
an  invitation  to  visit  the  library. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     109 

Then  the  music  began,  and  lasted  not  above  an 
hour,  with  breathing  and  chatting  intervals,  followed 
by  claret  cup  and  lemonade.  A  pleasant  evening's 
recreation,  with  no  opportunity  of  accumulating  the 
material  for  either  mental  or  physical  headache. 

The  night  air  was  very  soft,  but  of  that  delusive 
quality  that  in  February  portends  snow,  and  not  the 
return  of  bluebirds,  as  the  uninitiated  might  expect. 
Miss  Lavinia  was  fascinated  by  the  lights  and  motion 
of  Herald  Square,  and  at  her  suggestion,  it  being 
but  a  little  past  ten,  we  strolled  homeward  down 
Broadway  instead  of  taking  a  car.  Her  delight  at 
the  crowd  of  promenaders,  the  picturesque  florists' 
shops,  and  the  general  buzz  of  night  life  was  almost 
pathetic.  Her  after-dark  experience  having  been 
to  get  to  and  from  specified  places  as  quickly  as 
possible  with  Lucy  for  escort,  solicitous  when  in  a 
street  car  lest  they  should  pass  their  destination,  and 
trembling  even  more  when  in  a  cab  lest  the  driver 
should  have  committed  the  variable  and  expansive 
crime  of  "taking  something."  She  bought  a  "ten 
o'clock  edition  "  of  the  Telegram,  some  of  "  Match 
Mary's  "  wares,  that  perennially  middle-aged  woman 
who  haunts  the  theatre  region,  and  suggested  that  we 
have  ice-cream  soda  at  a  particularly  glittering  drug 
store,  but  this  desire  was  switched  into  hot  bouillon 


i  io    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

by  Evan,  who  retains  the  Englishman's  dislike  of 
chilling  his  internals. 

New  York  is  really  a  fine  city  by  night,  that  is, 
in  parts  at  least,  and  yet  it  is  very  strange  how 
comparatively  few  of  the  rank  and  file  of  its  inhab- 
itants walk  abroad  to  see  the  spectacle. 

By  lamplight  the  scars  and  wounds  of  subways 
appear  less  vivid,  and  the  perpetual  skeleton  of  the 
skyscraper  merges  in  its  background.  The  occa- 
sional good  bit  of  architecture  steps  out  boldly  from 
the  surrounding  shadows  of  daylight  discourage- 
ment. City  life  does  not  seem  to  be  such  an  ex- 
hausting struggle,  and  even  the  "misery  wagons," 
as  I  always  call  ambulances  to  myself,  look  less 
dreary  with  the  blinking  light  fore  and  aft,  for 
you  cannot  go  far  in  New  York  without  feeling 
the  pitying  thrill  of  their  gongs. 

After  the  brightness  of  Broadway  the  side  streets 
seemed  cavernous.  As  we  turned  westward  and 
crossed  Sixth  Avenue  a  dark  figure,  outlined  full 
length  against  the  blazing  window  of  a  corner 
liquor  saloon,  lined  with  mirrors,  in  some  way  fixed 
my  attention.  It  was  a  woman's  figure,  slight,  and 
a  little  crouching.  The  hat  was  gay  and  set  on 
puffy  hair,  the  jacket  brave  with  lace,  but  the  skirt 
was  frayed  where  it  lapped  the  pavement,  and  the 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     in 

boot  that  was  pushed  from  beneath  it,  as  if  to 
steady  a  swaying  frame,  was  thin  and  broken.  I 
do  not  know  why  I  looked  back  after  I  had  passed, 
but  as  I  did  so,  I  saw  the  girl,  for  she  was  little 
more,  pull  a  scrap  of  chamois  from  a  little  bag  she 
carried  and  quickly  rub  rouge  upon  her  hollow 
cheeks,  using  the  saloon  mirror  for  a  toilet  glass. 
But  when  I  saw  the  face  itself  I  stopped  short, 
giving  Evan's  arm  such  a  tug  that  he  also  turned. 

The  woman  was  Jennie,  the  Oakland  baker's 
only  daughter,  who  had  no  lack  of  country  beaus, 
but  was  flattered  by  the  attentions  of  one  of  the 
Jenks-Smith's  butlers,  whose  irreproachable  man- 
ners of  the  count-in-disguise  variety  made  the  native 
youths  appear  indeed  uncouth.  She  grew  discon- 
tented, thought  it  beneath  her  social  position  to 
help  her  mother  in  the  shop,  and  went  to  town  to 
work  in  a  store,  it  was  said  until  her  wedding, 
which  was  to  be  that  autumn.  Father  worried 
over  her  and  tried  to  advise,  but  to  no  purpose. 
This  was  more  than  two  years  ago.  The  butler 
left  the  Jenks-Smith's,  and  we  heard  that  he  was  a 
married  man,  with  a  family  who  had  come  to  look 
him  up. 

Jennie's  mother  said  she  had  a  fine  place  in  a 
store,  and  showed  us,  from  time  to  time,  presents 


H2     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

the  girl  had  sent  her,  so  thus  to  find  the  truth  was 
a  shock  indeed.  Not  but  what  all  women  who 
are  grown  must  bear  upon  them  the  weight  of  the 
general  knowledge  of  evil,  but  it  is  none  the  less 
awful  to  come  face  to  face  on  a  street  corner  with  one 
who  was  the  pretty  village  girl,  whom  you  last  saw 
standing  behind  the  neat  counter  with  a  pitcher  of 
honeysuckles  at  her  elbow  as  she  filled  a  bag  with 
sugar  cookies  for  your  clamouring  babies. 
******* 

I  suppose  that  I  must  have  exclaimed  aloud,  for 
Jennie  started  back  and  saw  us,  then  dropped  her 
bag  and  began  to  grope  about  for  it  as  if  she  was 
in  a  dream. 

"  Can't  we  do  something  ? "  I  whispered  to  Evan, 
but  he  only  gravely  shook  his  head. 

"  Give  her  this  for  the  boys'  sake,"  I  begged,  fum- 
bling in  his  change  pocket  and  finding  a  bill  there. 
"Tell  her  it's  home  money  from  the  Doctor's  daughter 
—  and — to  go  home  —  or — buy — a  —  pair  of  shoes." 

At  first  I  thought  she  was  not  going  to  take  it; 
but  having  found  her  bag  she  straightened  herself 
a  moment,  and  without  looking  at  Evan  gave  me 
a  glance,  half  defiant,  half  beseeching,  grasped  the 
money  almost  fiercely,  and  scuttled  away  in  the 
darkness,  and  I  found  that  I  was  crying.  But 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     113 

Evan  understood,  —  he  always  does,  —  and  I  hope 
that  if  the  boys  read  this  little  book  fifteen  or 
twenty  years  hence,  that  they  will  also. 

As  we  reached  the  door  the  first  snowflakes  fell. 

Poor  Jennie ! 

******* 

The  third  day  of  our  stay  began  in  country  quiet. 
In  fact  we  did  not  wake  up  until  eight ;  everything 
was  snowbound,  and  even  the  occasional  horse  cars 
that  pass  the  front  of  the  house  had  ceased  their 
primitive  tinkling.  The  milkman  did  not  come, 
neither  did  the  long  crispy  French  rolls,  a  New 
York  breakfast  institution  for  which  the  commuters 
confessedly  have  no  substitute,  and  it  was  after 
nine  before  breakfast  was  served. 

Evan,  who  had  disappeared,  returned  at  the  right 
moment  with  his  newspaper  and  two  bulky  tissue 
paper  bundles  all  powdered  with  snow,  one  of 
which  he  gave  to  Miss  Lavinia,  the  other  to  me. 
I  knew  their  contents  the  moment  I  set  eyes  on 
them,  and  yet  it  was  none  the  less  a  heart-warm- 
ing surprise. 

Down  in  a  near-by  market  is  a  little  florist's 
shop,  so  small  that  one  might  pass  twenty  times  with- 
out noticing  it ;  the  man,  a  local  authority,  who  has 
kept  it  for  years,  makes  a  specialty  of  the  great  long- 


H4    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

stemmed  single  violets,  whose  fleeting  fragrance  no 
words  may  express.  They  call  them  Californias 
now,  but  they  are  evidently  the  opulent  kin  of  those 
sturdy,  dark-eyed  Russian  violets  of  my  mother's 
garden,  and  as  they  mean  more  than  any  other 
flower  to  me,  Evan  always  brings  them  to  me  when 
I  come  to  town.  This  morning  he  trudged  out  in 
the  snow,  hardly  thinking  this  man  would  have  any, 
but  by  mere  chance  the  grower,  suspecting  snow, 
brought  in  his  crop  the  night  before,  and  in  spite 
of  the  storm  I  had  the  first  morning  breath  of  these 
flowers  of  a  day. 

Miss  Lavinia  sniffed  and  sighed,  and  then  buried 
her  aristocratic,  but  rather  chilly,  nose  in  the  mass. 
"  I  feel  like  a  young  girl  with  her  first  bouquet," 
she  said  presently. 

"Ah,  how  good  it  is  to  be  given  something  with 
a  meaning.  Most  people  think  that  to  be  able  to 
buy  what  they  wish,  within  reason,  is  perfect  hap- 
piness, but  it  isn't.  Barbara,  you  and  this  man  of 
yours  quite  unsettle  me  and  shake  my  pet  theories. 
You  show  sides  of  things  in  my  own  birthplace  that 
I  never  dreamed  of  looking  up,  and  you  convince 
me,  when  I  am  on  the  wane,  that  married  friend- 
ship is  the  only  thing  worth  living  for.  It's  too 
bad  of  you,  but  fortunately  for  me  the  notion  passes 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     115 

off  after  you  have  gone  away,"  and  Miss  Lavinia, 
after  loving  her  violets  a  bit  longer,  put  them  in  a 
chubby  jug  of  richly  chased  old  silver. 

After  breakfast  we  tried  to  coax  her  to  bundle  up 
and  come  with  us  to  Washington  Square  to  see  the 
crystal  trees  in  all  their  beauty;  but  that  was  too 
unorthodox  a  feat.  To  plough  through  snow  in  rub- 
ber boots  in  the  very  heart  of  the  city  was  entirely 
too  radical  a  move.  She  knew  people  about  the 
square,  and  I  suppose  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  by 
them,  so  she  was  obliged  to  content  herself  with 
sight  of  the  snow  draperies  and  ice  jewels  that 
decked  the  trees  and  shrubs  of  the  doomed  back 
yard. 

Even  though  the  storm  called  a  halt  in  our  plans 
for  Miss  Lavinia,  Evan  and  I  had  a  little  errand  of 
our  own,  our  annual  pilgrimage  to  see  the  auction 
room  where  we  first  met  that  February  afternoon. 
The  room  is  not  there  now,  to  be  sure,  but  we  go  to 
see  it  all  the  same,  and  have  our  little  thrill  and  buy 
something  near  the  place  to  take  home  to  the  boys, 
and  we  shall  continue  to  come  each  year  unless 
public  improvement  causes  the  thoroughfare  itself 
to  be  hung  up  in  the  sky,  which  is  quite  possible. 

Then  Evan  went  down  town,  and  I  returned  to 
lunch  with  Miss  Lavinia,  for,  if  possible,  we  were  to 


Ii6    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

call  on  Sylvia  Latham  and  ask  her  to  dinner  on  the 
morrow,  the  last  day  of  our  stay.  Miss  Lavinia  pro- 
posed to  invite  Sylvia  to  spend  the  night  also,  that 
we  might  become  acquainted  upon  a  basis  less  formal 
than  a  mere  dinner. 

Shortly  after  three  o'clock  we  started  in  a  coupe" 
with  two  stout  horses  driven  by  a  man  above  suspi- 
cion of  having  "taken  anything,"  at  least  at  the 
start.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  eight  or  ten  inches  of 
damp  snow  can  so  nearly  paralyze  the  transportation 
facilities  of  a  city  like  New  York,  but  such  is  the 
case.  The  elevated  rails  become  slippery,  the  wheels 
will  not  grip,  and  the  entire  wheel  traffic  of  the 
streets  betakes  itself  to  the  tracks  of  the  surface 
lines,  where  trolley,  truck,  and  private  carriage  all 
move  along  solemnly  in  a  strange  procession,  like  a 
funeral  I  once  saw  outside  of  Paris,  where  the  hearse 
was  followed  by  two  finely  draped  carriages,  then  by 
the  business  wagon  of  the  deceased,  filled  with 
employees,  the  draperies  on  this  arranged  so  as  not 
to  disturb  the  sign,  —  he  kept  a  patisserie,  —  while  a 
donkey  cart,  belonging  to  the  market  garden  that 
supplied  the  deceased  with  vegetables,  brought  up 
the  rear. 

In  the  middle  and  lower  parts  of  New  York  the 
streets  and  their  life  dominate  the  houses ;  on  the 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     117 

east  side  of  the  park  the  houses  dominate  the  streets, 
and  the  flunkies,  whose  duty  it  is  either  to  let  you 
in  or  preferably  to  keep  you  out  of  these  houses, 
control  the  entire  situation.  I  may  in  the  course  of 
time  come  to  respect  or  even  like  some  of  these 
mariners  of  the  Whirlpool,  but  as  a  class  their  ser- 
vants are  wholly  and  unendurably  objectionable,  and 
the  sum  of  all  that  is  most  aggravating. 

The  house  faced  the  park.  A  carpet  was  spread 
down  the  steps,  but  we  could  not  conjecture  if  it  was 
an  ordinary  custom  in  bad  weather,  or  if  some  func- 
tion was  afoot.  Evidently  the  latter,  as  I  had  barely 
touched  the  bell  when  the  door  flew  open.  Two 
liveried  attendants  were  within,  one  turned  the  door 
knob  and  the  other  presented  his  tray  for  the  cards, 
while  in  the  distance  a  third,  wearing  the  dress  of  a 
butler  or  majordomo,  stood  by  closed  portieres. 

We  had  asked  for  Mrs.  and  Miss  Latham,  and  evi- 
dently the  combination  caused  confusion.  No.  I  re- 
mained by  the  front  door,  No.  2,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  motioned  us  to  seats  near  the  fireplace  in 
the  great  reception  hall,  a  room  by  itself,  wainscoted 
with  carved  oak,  that  also  formed  the  banisters  and 
the  railing  of  a  sort  of  balcony  above,  while  the  walls 
were  hung  with  rich-hued  tapestries,  whose  colours 
were  revealed  by  quaint  shield-shaped  electroliers  of 


ii8     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

gilded  glass.  Man  No.  3  disappeared  within  the 
portieres  bearing  our  cards.  In  a  moment  he  reap- 
peared, drew  them  apart,  and  stood  aside  as  his 
mistress  swept  out,  the  same  cold  blond  woman  I  had 
seen  in  the  market,  but  now  most  exquisitely  clad 
in  a  pale  gray  gown  of  crepe  embroidered  with  silver 
fern  fronds  and  held  at  the  neck  by  a  deep  collar 
of  splendid  pearls,  pearl  rings  alone  upon  her  hands, 
in  her  hair  a  spray  of  silver  mistletoe  with  pearls  for 
berries.  She  made  an  exquisite  picture  as  she  ad- 
vanced swiftly  to  meet  us,  a  half  smile  on  her  lips 
and  one  pink-tipped  hand  extended.  I  love  to  look 
at  beautiful  women,  yet  the  sight  of  her  gave  me  a 
sort  of  Undine  shiver. 

"  Dear  Miss  Dorman,  so  glad  to  see  you,  and  Mrs. 
Evan  of  Oaklands  also.  I  have  seen,  but  never  met 
you,  I  believe,"  she  said,  giving  us  her  hand  in  turn. 
"  I  must  ask  you  to  the  library,  (Perkins,  Miss 
Sylvia,"  she  said  in  an  aside  to  No.  2,  who  imme- 
diately vanished  upstairs,)  "and  then  excuse  myself 
regretfully,  for  this  is  my  afternoon  for  '  bridge,'  as 
Monty  Bell  and  a  friend  or  two  of  his  are  good 
enough  to  promise  to  come  and  give  us  hints. 
Monty  is  so  useful,  you  know,  and  so  good-natured. 
I  think  you  knew  his  mother,  didn't  you,  Miss  La- 
vinia  ?  No,  Sylvia  is  not  to  play  ;  she  is  not  up 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     119 

enough  for  'bridge.'  I  wish  you  could  persuade 
her  to  take  lessons  and  an  interest  in  the  game,  for 
when  Lent  begins  she  will  be  horribly  bored,  for 
there  will  be  a  game  somewhere  every  day,  and  some- 
times two  and  three,  and  she  will  be  quite  out  of  it, 
which  is  very  ill-advised  for  a  girl  in  her  first  winter, 
and  especially  when  she  starts  as  late  as  Sylvia.  I'm 
afraid  that  I  shall  have  to  take  her  south  to  wake 
her  up,  and  that  is  not  in  my  schedule  this  season, 
I've  so  much  to  oversee  at  my  Oaklands  cottage. 

"  It  is  a  very  cold  afternoon  for  you  to  have  come 
so  far,  dear  Miss  Lavinia  ;  a  cup  of  tea  or  something  ? 
No  ?  Ah,  here  comes  Sylvia,  and  I  know  you  will 
forgive  me  for  going,"  and  Mrs.  Latham  glided 
away  with  a  glance  toward  the  stairs.  She  evidently 
was  in  a  desperate  hurry  to  return  to  her  guests,  and 
yet  she  spoke  slowly,  with  that  delightful  southern 
deliberation  that  suits  women  with  pretty  mouths  so 
well,  and  still  as  I  felt  her  eyes  upon  me  I  knew  that 
to  move  her  in  any  way  against  her  own  will  would 
be  impossible,  and  that  she  could  never  love  anything 
but  herself,  and  never  would. 

I  did  not  look  at  Miss  Lavinia  in  the  brief  moment 
before  Sylvia  entered,  for  we  were  both  too  well  bred 
to  criticise  a  woman  in  her  own  house,  even  with  our 
eyes,  which  had  they  met  would  have  been  inevitable. 


120    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

At  first  Sylvia  only  saw  Miss  Lavinia,  and  gathered 
her  into  her  arms  spontaneously,  as  if  she  were  the 
elder,  as  she  was  by  far  the  bigger  of  the  two.  Then 
seeing  me,  the  cards  not  having  been  sent  up,  she 
hesitated  a  moment,  colouring  shyly,  as  a  girl  of  six- 
teen might,  and  then  straightway  greeted  me  without 
embarrassment.  As  we  laid  aside  our  wraps  and 
seated  ourselves  in  a  sort  of  cosey  corner  nook  deep 
with  pillows,  and  fur  rugs  nestling  about  the  feet,  I 
drew  my  first  comfortable  breath  since  entering,  and 
as  Miss  Lavinia  naturally  took  the  lead  in  the  con- 
versation, giving  her  invitation  for  the  next  night,  I 
had  ample  time  to  study  Sylvia.  She  was  fine  looking 
rather  than  handsome,  a  warm  brunette  with  copper 
glints  threading  her  brown  hair,  thick  curved  lashes, 
big  brown  eyes,  a  good  straight  nose,  and  a  decidedly 
humorous,  but  not  small  mouth,  with  lips  that  curled 
back  from  even  teeth,  while  her  whole  face  was  punctu- 
ated and  made  winningly  feminine  by  a  deep  dimple 
in  the  chin  and  a  couple  of  vagrant  ones  that  played 
about  her  mouth  corners  when  she  spoke,  as  she 
always  did,  looking  directly  at  one. 

Her  hands  were  long  and  well  shaped,  not  small, 
but  competent  looking,  a  great  contrast  to  her  mother's, 
as  well  as  to  Miss  Lavinia's,  that  could  slip  easily  into 
a  five-and-a-half  glove.  She  wore  a  graceful  afternoon 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     121 

gown  of  pale  blue  with  lace  butterflies  on  the  blouse 
and  skirt,  held  in  at  waist  and  neck  by  enamelled 
butterfly  buckles.  She  moved  gracefully,  and  had  a 
strong  individuality,  a  warmth  of  nature  that  con- 
trasted keenly  with  the  statuesque  perfection  of  her 
mother,  and  I  fell  to  wondering  what  her  father  was 
like,  and  if  she  resembled  him. 

"  Not  yet,  not  until  late  spring,"  I  heard  her  say 
in  answer  to  Miss  Lavinia's  question  as  to  whether 
her  father  had  returned  from  his  Japan  tour. 

"  He  is  detained  by  railway  business  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  cannot  go  farther  north  to  settle  it  until 
winter  breaks.  I've  written  him  to  ask  leave  to  join 
him  and  perhaps  stop  awhile  at  Los  Angeles  and  go 
up  to  see  my  brother  on  his  Wyoming  ranch  in  May. 
I  do  so  hope  he  will  let  me.  I've  tried  to  coax  mamma 
to  go  too,  she  has  had  such  a  wearing  life  this  winter 
in  trying  to  make  it  pleasant  for  me  and  introduce  me 
to  her  friends.  I  wish  I  could  tell  her  exactly  how 
much  I  should  prefer  to  be  more  alone  with  her.  I 
do  not  want  her  to  think  me  ungrateful,  but  to  go  out 
with  her  to  father  and  pay  dear  old  Carthy  a  visit 
would  be  simply  splendid." 

Then  turning  to  me  she  said,  I  thought  with  a  little 
quiver  in  her  voice,  "  They  tell  me  you  live  with  your 
father,  Mrs.  Evan  —  even  though  you  are  married, 


122     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

—  and  I  have  not  seen  mine  for  more  than  two  years, 
only  think  of  it !" 

Whereat  my  heart  went  out  to  her,  and  I  prayed 
mentally  that  her  father  might  have  a  broad  warm 
shoulder  to  pillow  her  head  and  a  ready  ear  to  hear 
her  confidences,  for  the  perfectly  rounded  neck  and 
shell  ear  of  the  mother  playing  cards  in  the  next  room 
would  never  give  harbour  or  heed,  I  knew. 

Sylvia  was  as  pleased  as  a  child  at  the  idea  of 
coming  down  to  spend  the  night,  stipulating  that  if 
it  was  still  cold  she  should  be  allowed  to  make  taffy 
and  put  it  on  the  shed  to  harden,  saying,  with  a  pout: 
"  At  school  and  college  there  was  always  somewhere 
that  I  could  mess  with  sticky  things  and  cook,  but 
here  it  is  impossible,  though  mamma  says  I  shall  have 
an  outdoor  tea-room  at  the  Oaklands  all  to  myself, 
and  give  chafing-dish  parties,  for  they  are  quite  the 
thing.  '  The  thing '  is  my  boogy  man,  I'm  afraid.  If 
what  you  wish  to  do,  no  matter  how  silly,  agrees  with 
it,  it's  all  right,  but  if  it  doesn't,  all  the  wisdom  of 
Solomon  won't  prevail  against  those  two  words." 

Man  No.  2  at  this  juncture  came  in  and  presented 
a  florist's  box  and  envelope  in  a  tray,  saying,  sotto 
voce,  as  he  did  so,  "  Shall  I  hopen  it  and  arrange 
them,  miss,  or  will  you  wear  them  ? "  for,  as  the 
result  of  lavish  entertaining  and  many  hothouses  as 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     123 

well  as  friends,  flowers  showered  upon  the  Latham 
house  at  all  hours,  and  both  library  and  hall  were 
almost  too  fragrant. 

Sylvia  glanced  at  the  note,  saying,  "  I  will  wear 
them,"  to  the  man,  handed  the  card  to  Miss  Lavinia, 
her  face  flushing  with  pleasure,  while  No.  2  extracted 
a  modest  bunch  of  California  violets  from  the  paper, 
handed  them  to  his  young  mistress,  and  retired  with 
the  box  on  his  tray. 

The  name  on  the  card  was  Horace  Bradford,  the 
pencilled  address  University  Club,  on  the  reverse 
were  the  words,  "  May  I  give  myself  the  pleasure 
of  calling  to-morrow  night  ?  These  February  vio- 
lets are  in  remembrance  of  a  May  ducking.  Am 
in  town  for  two  days  only  on  college  business." 

"  The  day  that  he  rowed  us  on  the  Avon  and 
reached  too  far  up  the  bank  to  pick  you  wild  violets 
and  the  boat  shot  ahead  and  he  fell  into  the  water," 
laughed  Miss  Lavinia,  as  pleased  as  Sylvia  at  the 
recollection. 

"  But  I  am  going  to  you  to-morrow  evening,"  said 
Sylvia,  ruefully  at  thought  of  missing  a  friend,  but 
quite  heart-free,  as  Miss  Lavinia  saw. 

"  Let  me  take  the  card,  and  I  will  ask  him  to  dinner 
also,"  said  the  dear,  comfortable,  prim  soul,  who  was 
still  bubbling  over  with  love  of  youth,  "  and  Barbara 


124    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

shall  ask  her  adopted  uncle  Cortright  to  keep  the 
number  even." 

Time,  it  seems,  had  flown  rapidly.  She  had  barely 
slipped  the  card  in  her  case  when  the  door  opened 
and  No.  3  approached  solemnly  and  whispered,  "  Mrs. 
Latham  requests,  Miss,  as  how  you  will  come  and  pour 
tea,  likewise  bringing  the  ladies,  if  still  here  !  "  How 
those  words  still  here  smote  the  silence. 

We  immediately  huddled  on  our  wraps,  anxious  to 
be  gone  and  spare  Sylvia  possible  embarrassment,  in 
spite  of  her  protestations.  As  No.  2  led  the  way  to 
the  door  a  gentleman  crossed  the  hall  from  the  card- 
room  and  greeted  Sylvia  with  easy  familiarity.  He 
was  about  forty,  a  rather  colourless  blonde,  with  clean 
shaven  face  of  the  type  so  commonly  seen  now  that 
it  might  belong  equally  either  to  footman  or  master. 
His  eyes  had  a  slantwise  expression,  but  his  dress 
was  immaculate. 

Strolling  carelessly  by  the  girl's  side  I  heard  him 
say,  "  I  came  to  see  if  you  needed  coaxing ;  some  of 
the  ladies  are  green  over  their  losses,  so  have  a  care 
for  your  eyes."  Then  he  laughed  at  the  wide-eyed 
look  of  wonder  she  gave  him  as  he  begged  a  violet 
for  his  coat. 

But  Sylvia  drew  herself  up,  full  an  inch  above  him, 
and  replied,  decidedly,  but  with  perfect  good  nature, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     125 

"  No,  those  violets  are  a  message  from  Shakespeare, 
—  one  does  not  give  such  away." 

"  That  is  Monty  Bell,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  tragi- 
cally, as  soon  as  the  door  closed. 

"  Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  him  except  that 
his  colouring  is  like  a  summer  squash  ? "  I  asked. 

"  He's  been  divorced  by  his  wife,  and  it  was  her 
mother  that  was  my  friend,  not  his,  as  Mrs.  Latham 
hinted.  I  know  the  story  ;  it  makes  me  shiver  to  see 
him  near  Sylvia."  Then  Miss  Lavinia  drew  into 
a  shell,  in  which  she  remained  until  we  reached 
home. 

Meanwhile,  as  we  drove  in  silence,  I  remembered 
that  Richard's  rubber  boots  leaked,  and  I  wondered 
if  Martha  Corkle  would  discover  it,  or  if  he  was 
paddling  about  getting  his  feet  wet  and  bringing  on  a 
sore  throat.  But  when  I  got  home  Evan  said  he  had 
sent  the  boots  to  the  bicycle  tire  mender's  the  morning 
I  came  away.  It  was  the  third  night  of  my  stay, 
and  he  would  not  have  known  what  to  make  of  it  if 
I  had  not  raised  some  sort  of  a  ghost. 

***##** 

The  sidewalks  being  clear,  we  dined  at  the  Laurent, 
giving  Miss  Lavinia  a  resurrection  of  French  cooking, 
manners,  women,  ogling,  ventilation,  wine,  and  music. 
Then  we  took  her,  on  the  way  home,  to  see  some 


126    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

horrible  wax  figures,  listen  to  a  good  Hungarian  band, 
and  nearly  put  her  eyes  out  with  a  cinematograph 
show  of  the  Coronation  and  Indian  Durbar.  Finish- 
ing up  by  brewing  French  chocolate  in  the  pantry  and 
stirring  it  with  stick  bread,  and  our  guest,  in  her  own 
house,  went  to  bed  fairly  giggling  in  Gallic  gayety, 
declaring  that  she  felt  as  if  she  had  spent  the  evening 
on  the  Paris  boulevards,  that  she  liked  our  New 
York,  and  felt  ten  years  younger. 


VI 

ENTER   A   MAN 

If  I  weather  my  fourth  day  in  town  I  am  apt  to 
grow  a  trifle  waspish,  even  though  I  may  not  be 
goaded  to  the  stinging  point.  This  is  especially 
the  case  if,  as  on  this  recent  visit,  I  am  obliged  to 
do  any  shopping  for  myself.  Personally,  I  prefer 
the  rapid  transit  shopping  of  ordering  by  mail,  it 
avoids  so  many  complications.  Having  made  up 
your  mind  what  you  need,  or  perhaps,  to  speak 
more  truthfully,  what  you  want,  for  one  can  hardly 
be  quite  content  with  mere  necessities  until  one 
grows  either  so  old  or  shapeless  that  everything 
is  equally  unbecoming,  samples  are  forthcoming, 
from  which  an  intelligent  selection  can  be  made 
without  the  demoralizing  effect  of  glib  salespeople 
upon  one's  judgment. 

I  know  my  own  shortcomings  by  heart,  and  I 
should  never  have  deliberately  walked  into  tempta- 
tion yesterday  morning  if  Lavinia  Dorman  had  not 
said  that  she  wished  my  advice.  Last  year  I  went 

127 


128     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

with  the  intention  of  buying  substantial  blue  serge 
for  an  outing  gown,  and  was  led  astray  by  some 
gayly  flowered  muslins.  I  have  a  weakness  for  gay 
colours,  especially  red.  These  when  made  up  Evan 
pronounced  "extremely  pretty  —  in  the  abstract"  — 
which  is  his  way  of  saying  that  a  thing  is  either 
unsuitable  or  very  unbecoming.  When  I  went  to 
father,  hoping  for  consolation,  he  was  even  less 
charitable,  remarking  that  he  thought  now  long 
lines  were  more  suitable  and  graceful  for  me  than 
bunches  and  bowknots.  True,  the  boys  admired 
the  most  thickly  flowered  gown  immensely  for  a 
few  minutes,  Richard  bringing  me  a  posy  to  match 
for  my  hair,  while  Ian  walked  about  me  in  silence 
which  he  broke  suddenly  with  the  trenchant  remark 
— "  Barbara,  I  think  your  dwess  would  be  prettier 
if  it  was  weeded  some ! " 

All  of  which  is  of  course  perfectly  true.  I  have 
not  been  growing  thinner  all  these  six  years,  but 
this  morning,  in  stooping  over  one  of  the  cold 
frames  to  see  how  the  plants  within  had  weathered 
the  storm,  it  came  quite  as  a  shock  to  me  to  feel 
that,  like  Martin  Cortright,  I  am  getting  stout  and 
in  the  way  of  myself  when  I  bend,  like  an  impedi- 
ment in  a  door  hinge. 

However,  as    Miss   Lavinia   desired   guidance   in 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     129 

buying  some  real  country  clothes,  I  felt  it  my  duty 
to  give  it.  She  is  already  making  elaborate  prepa- 
rations for  her  visit  to  me.  It  seems  strange,  that 
simplicity  is  apparently  one  of  the  most  laborious 
things  in  the  world  to  those  unaccustomed  to  it, 
yet  so  it  is. 

She  is  about  to  make  her  initial  venture  in  shirt- 
waists, and  she  approaches  them  with  as  much 
caution  as  if  she  were  experimenting  with  tights 
and  trunks.  The  poor  little  seamstress  who  is  offi- 
ciating has,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  tried  one 
waist  on  five  times,  because,  as  Miss  Lavinia  does 
not  "  feel  it,"  she  thinks  it  cannot  fit  properly. 

Never  mind,  she  will  get  over  all  that,  of  course. 
The  plan  that  she  has  formed  of  spending  five  or 
six  months  in  the  real  country  must  appear  some- 
what in  the  light  of  a  revolution  to  her,  and  the 
preparation  of  a  special  uniform  and  munitions  for 
the  campaign  a  necessary  precaution.  Her  present 
plan  is  to  come  to  me  for  May,  then,  if  the  life 
suits  her,  she  will  either  take  a  small  house  that 
one  of  our  farmer  neighbours  often  rents  for  the 
summer  months,  or  else,  together  with  her  maid, 
Lucy,  board  at  one  of  the  hill  farms. 

I  have  told  her  plainly  (for  what  is  friendship 
worth  if  one  may  not  be  frank)  that  if  after  trial 
K 


130     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

we  agree  with  each  other,  I  hope  she  will  stay 
with  us  all  the  season ;  but  as  for  her  maid,  I  my- 
self will  supply  her  place,  if  need  be,  and  Effie  do 
her  mending,  for  I  could  not  have  Lucy  come. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  very  narrow  and  provincial; 
but  to  harbour  other  people's  servants  seems  to 
me  like  inviting  contagion  and  subjecting  one's 
kitchen  to  all  the  evils  of  boarding  house  atmo- 
sphere. 

I  used  to  think  last  summer,  when  I  saw  the 
arrival  of  various  men  and  maids  belonging  to 
guests  of  the  Bluff  Colony,  that  I  should  feel  much 
more  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  royalty,  and  that  I 
could  probably  entertain  Queen  Alexandra  at  dinner 
with  less  shock  to  her  nerves  and  traditions  than 
one  of  these  ladies'  maids  or  gentlemen's  gentlemen. 

Martha  Corkle  expresses  her  opinion  freely  upon 
this  subject,  and  I  must  confess  to  being  a  willing 
listener,  for  she  does  not  gossip,  she  portrays,  and 
often  with  a  masterly  touch.  The  woes  of  her 
countrywoman,  the  Ponsonby's  housekeeper,  often 
stir  her  to  the  quick.  The  Ponsonby  household  is 
perhaps  one  of  the  most  "difficult"  on  the  Bluffs, 
because  its  members  are  of  widely  divergent  ages. 
The  three  Ponsonby  girls  range  from  six  to  twenty- 
two,  with  a  college  freshman  son  second  from  the 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     131 

beginning,  while  Josephine,  sister  of  the  head  of 
the  family,  though  quite  Miss  Lavinia's  age,  is  the 
gayest  of  the  gay,  and  almost  outdoes  her  good- 
naturedly  giddy  sister-in-law. 

"  It's  just  hawful,  Mrs.  Evan,"  Martha  said  one 
day,  when,  judging  by  the  contents  of  the  station 
'bus  and  baggage  wagon,  almost  the  entire  Pon- 
sonby  house  staff  must  have  left  at  a  swoop ;  "  my 
eyes  fairly  bleeds  for  poor  Mrs.  Maggs  "  (the  house- 
keeper), "that  they  do.  'Twas  bad  enough  in  the 
old  country,  where  we  knew  our  places,  even  though 
some  was  ambitioned  to  get  out  of  them;  but  here 
it's  like  blind  man's  buff,  and  enough  to  turn  a  body 
giddy.  Mrs.  Maggs  hasn't  a  sittin'  room  of  her 
own  where  she  and  the  butler  and  the  nurse  can 
have  their  tea  in  peace  or  entertain  guests,  but  she 
sets  two  tables  in  the  servants'  hall,  and  a  pretty 
time  she  has  of  it. 

"The  kitchen  maid  and  the  laundress's  assistant 
wait  on  the  first  table ;  but  one  day  when,  the  maid 
of  one  of  Miss  Ponsonby's  friends  comin'  down 
over  late,  she  was  served  with  instead  o'  by  them, 
she  gave  Mrs.  Maggs  the  'orriblest  settin'  down,  as 
not  knowin'  her  business  in  puttin'  a  lady's  lady 
with  servants'  servants,  the  same  which  Mrs.  Maggs 
does  know  perfectly  (accidents  bein'  unprevent- 


132     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

able),  bein'  child  of  Lord  Peacock's  steward  and 
his  head  nurse,  and  swallowin'  it  all  in  with  her 
mother's  milk,  so  to  speak,  not  borrowin'  it  second 
hand  as  some  of  the  great  folks  on  the  Bluffs 
themselves  do  from  their  servants,  not  feelin'  sure 
of  the  kerrect  thing,  yet  desirin'  so  to  do.  Mrs. 
Maggs,  poor  body,  she  has  more  mess  with  that 
servants'  hall  first  table  than  with  all  the  big  din- 
ners the  master  gives. 

" '  Mrs.  Corkle,'  says  she,  bein'  used  to  that  name, 
besides  Corkle  bein'  kin  to  her  husband,  'what  I 
sets  before  my  own  household,  as  it  were,  they 
leaves  or  they  eats,  it's  one  to  me;  but  company's 
got  to  be  handled  different,  be  it  upstairs  or  down, 
for  the  name  of  the  'ouse,  but  when  Mr.  Jollie,  the 
French  valet  that  comes  here  frequent  with  the 
master's  partner,  wants  dripped  coffee  and  the  fat 
scraped  clean  from  his  chop  shank,  else  the  flavour's 
spoiled  for  him,  and  Bruce  the  mistress'  brother's 
man  wants  boiled  coffee,  and  thick  fat  left  on  his 
breakfast  ham,  what  stands  between  my  poor  'ead 
and  a  h'assleyum  ?  that's  what  I  wants  to  know. 
Three  cooks  I've  had  this  very  season,  it  really 
bein'  the  duty  of  the  first  kitchen  maid  to  cook 
for  the  servants'  hall;  but  if  a  cook  is  suited  to  a 
kitchen  maid,  as  is  most  important,  she'll  stand  by 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     133 

her.  No,  Martha  Corkle,  wages  is  'igh,  no  doubt, 
—  fortunes  to  what  they  were  when  we  were  gells,  — 
but  not  'igh  for  the  worry;  and  bein'  in  service 
ain't  what  it  were.'  " 

Then  I  knew  that  Martha,  even  as  her  bosom 
heaves  over  her  friend's  grievances,  was  also  sighing 
with  content  at  thought  of  Timothy  Saunders  and 
her  own  lot ;  and  I  recalled  the  Lady  of  the  Bluffs' 
passing  remark,  and  felt  that  I  am  only  beginning  to 
realize  the  deliciousness  of  "comfortable  poverty." 
******* 

Miss  Lavinia  and  I  spent  some  time  browsing 
among  the  shops,  finally  bringing  up  at  an  old  con- 
servative dry  goods  concern  in  Broadway,  the  most 
satisfactory  place  to  shop  in  New  York,  because  there 
is  never  a  crowd,  and  the  salesmen,  many  of  them 
grown  gray  in  the  service,  take  an  Old  World  interest 
in  their  wares  and  in  you. 

While  I  was  trying  to  convince  Miss  Lavinia  as 
to  the  need  of  the  serviceable,  she  was  equally  de- 
termined to  decoy  me  toward  the  frivolous ;  and  I 
yielded,  I  may  say  fell,  to  the  extent  of  buying  a 
white  crepey  sort  of  pattern  gown  that  had  an  open 
work  white  lilac  pattern  embroidered  on  it.  It  cer- 
tainly was  very  lovely,  and  it  is  nice  to  have  a  really 
good  gown  in  reserve,  even  if  a  plainer  one  that  will 


134    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

stand  hugging,  sticky  fingers,  and  dogs'  damp  noses 
is  more  truly  enjoyable. 

N.B.  —  I  must  get  over  apologizing  to  myself  when 
I  buy  respectable  clothes.  It  savours  too  much  of 
Aunt  Lot's  old  habit  of  saying,  every  time  she  bought 
a  best  gown,  and  I  remonstrated  with  her  for  the 
colour  (it  was  always  black  in  those  days ;  since  she's 
married  the  Reverend  Jabez  she's  taken  to  greens), 
"  When  I  consider  that  a  black  dress  would  be  suit- 
able to  be  buried  in,  it  seems  less  like  a  vain  luxury." 

We  were  admiring  the  dainty  muslins,  but  only  in 
the  "  abstract,"  when  I  looked  up,  conscious  that  some 
one  was  coming  directly  toward  us,  and  saw  Sylvia 
Latham  crossing  the  shop  from  the  door,  her  rapid, 
swinging  gait  bringing  her  to  us  before  short-sighted 
Miss  Lavinia  had  a  chance  to  raise  her  lorgnette. 

Sylvia  was  genuinely  glad  to  see  us,  and  she  ex- 
pressed it  both  by  look  and  speech,  without  the 
slightest  symptom  of  gush,  yet  with  the  confiding 
manner  of  one  who  craves  companionship.  I  had, 
in  fact,  noticed  the  same  thing  during  our  call  the 
afternoon  before. 

"  Well,  and  what  are  we  buying  to-day  ? "  asked 
Miss  Lavinia,  clearing  her  voice  by  a  little  caressing 
sound  halfway  between  a  purr  and  a  cluck,  and  pat- 
ting the  hand  that  lingered  affectionately  on  hers. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     135 

"  I  really — don't — know,"  answered  Sylvia,  smiling 
at  her  own  hesitation.  "  Mamma  says  that  if  I  do  not 
get  my  clothes  together  before  people  begin  to  come 
back  from  the  South,  I  shall  be  nowhere,  so  she 
took  me  with  her  to  Mme.  Couteaux's  this  morning. 
Mamma  goes  there  because  she  says  it  saves  so  much 
trouble.  Madame  keeps  a  list  of  every  article  her  cus- 
tomers have,  and  supplies  everything,  even  down  to 
under  linen  and  hosiery,  so  she  has  made  for  mamma 
a  plan  of  exactly  what  she  would  need  for  next  sea- 
son, and  after  having  received  her  permission,  will  at 
once  begin  to  carry  it  out.  Of  course  the  clothes  will 
be  very  beautiful  and  harmonious,  and  mamma  has  so 
much  on  her  hands,  now  that  father  is  away,  —  the 
new  cottage  at  Oaklands  is  being  furnished,  and  me  to 
initiate  in  the  way  I'm  supposed  to  go,  —  that  it  cer- 
tainly simplifies  matters  for  her. 

"  Me  ?  Ah,  I  do  not  like  the  system  at  all,  or 
Madame  Couteaux  either,  and  the  feeling  is  mutual, 
I  assure  you.  Without  waiting  to  be  asked,  even,  she 
looked  me  over  from  head  to  foot  and  said  that  my 
lines  are  very  bad,  that  I  curve  in  and  out  at  the 
wrong  places,  that  I  must  begin  at  once  by  wearing 
higher  heels  to  throw  me  forward ! 

"  At  first  I  was  indignant,  and  then  the  ludicrous 
climbed  uppermost,  and  I  laughed,  whereat  Madame 


136     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

looked  positively  shocked,  and  even  mamma  seemed 
aghast  and  murmured  something  apologetic  about 
my  having  been  at  boarding-school  in  the  country, 
and  at  college,  where  I  had  ridden  horseback  without 
proper  instruction,  which  had  injured  my  figure.  Only 
imagine,  Aunt  Lavinia,  those  glorious  gallops  among 
the  Rockcliffe  Hills  hurting  one's  body  in  any  way ! 
But  then,  I  suppose  body  and  figure  are  wholly  dif- 
ferent things  ;  at  any  rate,  Madame  Couteaux  gave  a 
shrug,  as  if  shedding  all  responsibility  for  my  future 
from  her  fat  shoulders,  and  so,  while  mamma  is  there, 
I  am  taking  a  run  out  in  the  cold  world  of  raw  ma- 
terial and  observing  for  myself. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  make  mistakes,  but  I  have  had 
everything  done  for  me  to  such  an  extent,  during  the 
last  four  months,  that  I  really  must  make  a  point  of 
picking  and  choosing  for  once.  I've  had  a  mad 
desire  since  the  last  storm  to  stir  up  the  pools  in  the 
gutters  with  my  best  shoes,  as  the  happy  little 
children  do  with  their  rubber  boots.  How  I  shall 
enjoy  it  when  we  go  to  Oaklands,  and  there  is  really 
something  to  do  instead  of  merely  being  amused. 

"  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Evan,  won't  you  and  Miss 
Lavinia  join  us  at  luncheon  ?  We  are  to  have  it  some- 
where downtown,  to-day,  —  the  Waldorf,  I  believe,  — 
as  mamma  expects  to  spend  most  of  the  afternoon 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     137 

at  the  decorators,  to  see  the  designs  for  the  Oaklands 
hangings  and  furniture,  and,"  glancing  at  the  big 
clock,  between  the  lifts,  as  Miss  Lavinia  made  her 
last  purchase,  "  it's  high  time  for  me  to  go  and  pick 
her  up." 

Having  a  feeling  that  possibly  mamma  might  not 
be  so  cordial,  in  addition  to  being  due  at  home  for 
more  shirtwaist  fittings,  Miss  Lavinia  declined,  and 
reminding  Sylvia  that  dinner  would  be  at  the  old- 
fashioned  hour  of  half-past  six,  we  drifted  out  the 
door  together,  Sylvia  going  toward  Fifth  Avenue, 
while  we  turned  the  corner  and  sauntered  down 
Broadway,  pausing  at  every  attractive  window. 

Miss  Lavinia's  short-sightedness  caused  her  to 
bump  into  a  man,  who  was  intently  gazing,  from  the 
height  of  six  feet,  at  jewelled  bugs,  displayed  in  the 
window  of  a  dealer  in  Oriental  wares. 

The  man,  thinking  himself  to  blame,  raised  his  hat 
in  apology,  glancing  casually  down  as  he  did  so, 
whereupon  the  hat  remained  off,  and  he  and  Miss 
Lavinia  grasped  hands  with  sudden  enthusiasm,  fol- 
lowed by  a  medley  of  questions  and  answers,  so  that 
before  she  remembered  me,  and  turned  to  introduce 
the  stranger,  I  knew  that  it  was  Horace  Bradford 
himself.  A  strange,  but  positive,  fact  about  New 
York  is  that  one  may  at  one  time  be  in  it  but  a  few 


138     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

hours  and  run  across  half  the  people  of  one's  ac- 
quaintance, gathered  from  all  parts  of  the  country, 
and  at  another,  wander  about  for  weeks  without 
seeing  a  familiar  face. 

I  liked  Bradford  from  the  moment  I  shook  hands 
with  him.  There  is  so  much  in  the  mere  touching  of 
hands.  His  neither  crushed  as  if  to  compel,  nor 
flopped  equivocally,  but  said,  as  it  enclosed  yours  in 
its  bigness,  "  I  am  here,  command  me." 

Broadway,  during  shopping  hours,  is  not  an  ideal 
place  for  the  interchange  of  either  ideas,  or  more, 
even,  than  the  merest  courtesies ;  but  after  thanking 
Miss  Lavinia  for  the  dinner  invitation,  to  which  he 
had  just  sent  the  answer,  and  inquiring  for  Sylvia 
Latham,  as  he  walked  beside  us  for  a  block  or  two,  it 
was  very  evident  that  he  had  something  on  his  mind 
that  he  wished  to  say,  and  did  not  know  how  to  com- 
pass the  matter. 

As  he  talked  to  Miss  Lavinia  in  jerky  monosyl- 
lables, —  the  only  speech  that  the  noise  made  possible, 
—  I  had  a  chance  to  look  at  him.  He  did  not  possess 
a  single  feature  of  classic  proportions,  and  yet  he  was 
a  handsome  man,  owing  to  the  illumination  of  his 
face.  Brown,  introspective  eyes,  with  a  merry  way 
of  shutting ;  heavy,  dark  hair  and  brows,  and  a  few 
thoughtful  lines  here  and  there ;  mustache  pulled 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     139 

down  at  the  corners,  as  if  by  the  unconscious  weight 
of  a  nervously  strong  hand ;  and  a  firm  jaw,  but  not 
squared  to  the  point  that  suggests  the  dominance  of 
the  physical.  He  wore  a  dark  gray  Inverness  coat, 
evidently  one  of  the  fruits  of  his  English  tour,  and  a 
well-proportioned  soft  felt  hat,  set  on  firmly,  the 
crown  creased  in  the  precise  way  necessary  to  justify 
the  city  use  of  the  article  by  a  man  of  thirty.  He 
seemed  to  be  in  excellent,  almost  boyish  spirits,  and 
so  natural  and  wholesome  withal,  that  I  am  sure  I 
should  not  feel  at  all  embarrassed  at  finding  myself 
alone  with  him  on  a  desert  island.  This  is  one  of 
my  pet  similes  of  approval. 

Finally  he  blurted  out :  "  Miss  Lavinia,  I  do  so  wish 
your  advice  upon  a  strictly  woman's  matter ;  one,  how- 
ever, that  is  of  great  importance  to  me.  I  shall  have 
to  take  the  night  express  back,  and  this  is  the  only 
time  I  have  left.  Would  you  —  could  we  go  in  some- 
where, do  you  think,  and  have  something  while  I 
explain  ? " 

Miss  Lavinia  looked  dubious  as  to  whether  his  in- 
vitation might  mean  drinks,  man  fashion,  or  luncheon. 
But  as  at  that  moment  we  reached  the  chief  New  York 
residence  of  well-born  ice  cream  soda,  for  which  I 
always  hanker,  in  spite  of  snow  and  slush,  much  to 
Evan's  disgust,  I  relieved  the  situation  by  plunging 


140    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

in,  saying  that  I  was  even  more  thirsty  in  winter  than 
in  summer.  Whereat  Miss  Lavinia  shivered,  but 
cheerfully  resigned  herself  to  hot  chocolate. 

"  The  matter  in  point  is,"  continued  Bradford,  feel- 
ing boyishly  of  one  of  the  blocks  of  ice  that  decorated 
the  counter  to  find  if  it  was  real,  and  speaking  directly 
to  Miss  Lavinia, "  I've  had  a  great  happiness  come 
into  my  life  this  last  week ;  something  that  I  did  not 
expect  to  happen  for  years.  My  chief  has  retired,  and 
I  have  been  promoted.  I  will  not  take  your  time  to 
go  selfishly  into  details  now.  I  can  tell  you  to-night, 
if  you  care  to  hear.  I  cannot  go  home  until  the  Easter 
holidays,  and  so  I  want  to  send  something  to  my 
mother  by  way  of  celebration.  Would  you  select  it 
for  me  ? "  and  the  big  fellow  swept  the  shop  with  an 
indefinite  sort  of  gaze,  as  if  buying  candy  for  the  uni- 
verse would  but  feebly  express  his  feelings. 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  replied  Miss  Lavinia,  warming 
at  once;  —  "but  what  kind  of  something  ? " 

" I  think,"  —  hesitating  a  trifle,  —  "a  very  good 
gown,  and  an  ornament  of  some  kind." 

"  Would  she  not  prefer  choosing  the  gown  herself  ? 
People's  tastes  differ  so  much  about  clothing,"  ven- 
tured Miss  Lavinia,  willing,  even  anxious,  to  help  the 
man,  yet  shrinking  from  the  possibility  of  feminine 
criticism. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     141 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  that  is,  it  doesn't  work  well.  Be- 
foretimes  I've  often  written  her  to  buy  some  little 
finery  to  wear  for  my  sake,  but  my  gift  has  generally 
been  turned  into  flannels  for  poor  children  or  to  re- 
stock the  chickenyard  of  some  unfortunate  neighbour 
whose  fowls  have  all  died  of  gapes.  While  if  I  send 
her  the  articles  themselves,  she  will  prize  and  wear 
them,  even  if  the  gown  was  a  horse  blanket  and  the 
ornament  a  Plymouth  Rock  rooster  to  wear  on  her 
head.  You  know  how  mothers  are  about  buying 
things  for  themselves,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Evan  ?  "  he  said, 
turning  to  me,  that  I  need  not  consider  myself  excluded 
from  the  conversation. 

"  I  have  no  mother,  but  I  have  two  little  sons,"  I 
answered. 

"  Ah,  then  you  will  know  as  soon  as  they  grow  old 
enough  to  wish  to  buy  things  for  you,"  and  somehow 
the  soda  water  flew  up  my  nose,  and  I  had  to  grope 
for  my  handkerchief. 

Miss  Lavinia  evidently  did  not  like  to  ask  Mrs. 
Bradford's  age,  so  she  evaded  it  by  asking,  "  Does 
your  mother  wear  colours  or  black,  Mr.  Bradford  ? " 

"  She  has  worn  black  ever  since  my  father  died ; 
for  the  last  ten  years,  in  fact.  I  wish  I  could  persuade 
her  to  adopt  something  that  looks  more  cheerful, 
for  she  is  the  very  essence  of  cheerfulness  herself. 


142     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Do  you  think  this  would  be  a  good  time  to  give  a  sort 
of  hint  by  choosing  a  coloured  gown,  —  a  handsome 
blue  silk,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  I  know  precisely  how  you  feel,"  said  Miss  Lavinia, 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  sleeve  sympathetically,  "  men 
never  like  mourning ;  but  still  I  advise  you  not  to  try  the 
experiment  or  force  the  change.  A  brocaded  black  silk 
gown,  with  a  pretty  lace  fichu  to  soften  it  about  the 
shoulders,  and  a  simple  pin  to  hold  it  together  at  the 
neck,  —  how  would  that  suit  you  ? "  As  she  spoke 
she  waved  her  dainty  hands  about  so  expressively  in  a 
way  of  her  own  that  I  could  seem  to  see  the  folds  of 
the  material  drape  themselves. 

"  That  is  it !  You  have  exactly  the  idea  that  I 
could  not  formulate.  How  clever  women  are !  "  he 
exclaimed,  and  for  a  minute  I  really  thought  he  was 
going  to  hug  Miss  Lavinia. 

"  One  other  favour.  Will  you  buy  these  things  for 
me  ?  I  always  feel  so  out  of  place  and  cowardly  in 
the  women's  shops  where  such  things  are  sold.  Will 
$100  be  enough,  think  you?"  he  added  a  trifle  anx- 
iously, I  thought,  as  he  drew  a  small  envelope  from  a 
compartment  of  his  letter  book,  where  it  had  evidently 
been  stowed  away  for  this  special  purpose. 

"  Yes,  I  can  manage  nicely  with  it,"  replied  Miss 
Lavinia,  cheerfully  ;  "  and  now  you  must  leave  us  at 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     143 

once,  so  that  we  can  do  this  shopping,  and  not  be 
too  late  for  luncheon.  Remember,  dinner  to-night 
at  6: 30." 

"  One  thing  more,"  he  said,  as  we  turned  to  leave, 
"  I  shall  not  now  have  time  to  present  my  respects  to 
Miss  Latham's  mother  as  I  intended;  do  you  think 
that  she  will  hold  me  very  rude  ?  I  remember  that 
Miss  Sylvia  once  said  her  mother  was  very  particular 
in  matters  of  etiquette,  —  about  her  going  out  unchap- 
eroned  and  all  that,  —  and  should  not  wish  her  to  feel 
slighted."  Miss  Lavinia  assured  him  very  dryly  that 
he  need  not  worry  upon  that  score,  that  no  notice 
would  be  taken  of  the  omission.  Not  saying,  however, 
that  in  all  probability  he  was  entirely  unconsidered, 
ranked  as  a  tutor  and  little  better  than  a  governess  by 
the  elder  woman,  even  if  Sylvia  had  spoken  of  him  as 
her  instructor. 

So,  after  holding  open  the  heavy  doors  for  us,  he 
strode  off  down  town,  the  bright  smile  still  lingering 
about  his  eyes,  while  we  retraced  our  steps  to  the  shop 
we  had  visited  early  that  morning,  and  then  down 
again  to  a  jeweller's.  The  result  was  a  dress  pattern 
of  soft  black  silk,  brocaded  with  a  small  leafy  design, 
a  graceful  lace-edged,  muslin  fichu,  and  an  onyx  bar 
pin  upon  which  three  butterflies  were  outlined  by  tiny 
pearls. 


144    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  Isn't  he  a  dear  fellow  ? "  asked  Miss  Lavinia,  appar- 
ently of  a  big  gray  truck  horse  that  blocked  the  way 
as  we  waited  at  the  last  crossing  before  reaching  home. 
And  I  replied,  "  He  certainly  is,"  with  rash  but  un- 
shakable feminine  conviction. 


VII 

SYLVIA    LATHAM 

Sylvia  came  that  afternoon  well  before  dark,  a  trim 
footman  following  from  the  brougham  with  her  suit- 
case and  an  enormous  box  of  forced  early  spring 
flowers,  hyacinths,  narcissi,  tulips,  English  primroses, 
lilies-of-the-valley,  white  lilacs,  and  some  yellow  wands 
of  Forsythia,  "with  Mrs.  Latham's  compliments  to 
Miss  Dorman." 

"What  luxury!"  exclaimed  Miss  Lavinia,  turning 
out  the  flowers  upon  the  table  in  the  tea  room  where 
she  kept  her  window  garden,  "and  how  pale  and 
spindling  my  poor  posies  look  in  comparison.  Are 
these  from  the  Bluffs?" 

"Oh  no,  from  Newport,"  replied  Sylvia.  "There 
is  to  be  no  glass  at  the  Bluffs,  only  an  outdoor  gar- 
den, mamma  says,  that  will  not  be  too  much  trouble 
to  keep  up.  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith  was  dining  at  the 
house  last  night,  and  told  me  what  a  lovely  garden  you 
have,  Mrs.  Evan,  and  I  thought  perhaps,  if  we  do  not 
go  to  California  to  meet  father,  but  go  to  Oaklands 
L  145 


146     THE    PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

early  in  April,  you  might  be  good  enough  to  come  up 
and  talk  my  garden  over  with  me.  The  landscape 
architect  has,  I  believe,  made  a  plan  for  the  beds  and 
walks  about  the  house,  but  I  am  to  have  an  acre  or 
two  of  ground  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  highway 
quite  to  myself. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  squeeze  those  tulips  into  the  tight 
high  vases,  Aunt  Lavinia,"  she  said,  going  behind 
that  lady  and  giving  her  a  hug  with  one  arm,  while 
she  rescued  the  tulips  with  the  other  hand;  for  Miss 
Lavinia,  feeling  hurried  and  embarrassed  by  the 
quantity  of  flowers,  was  jumbling  them  at  random 
into  very  unsuitable  receptacles. 

"May  I  arrange  the  dinner  table,"  Sylvia  begged, 
"like  a  Dutch  garden,  with  a  path  all  around,  beds  in 
the  corners,  and  those  dear  little  silver  jugs  and  the 
candlesticks  for  a  bower  in  the  middle  ? 

"  A  month  ago,"  she  continued,  as  she  surveyed  the 
table  at  a  glance  and  began  to  work  with  charming 
enthusiasm,  "mamma  was  giving  a  very  particular 
dinner.  She  had  told  the  gardener  to  send  on  all  the 
flowers  that  could  possibly  be  cut,  so  that  there  were 
four  great  hampers  full;  but  owing  to  some  mistake 
Darley,  the  florist,  who  always  comes  to  decorate  the 
rooms,  did  not  appear.  We  telephoned,  and  the  men 
flew  about,  but  he  could  not  be  found,  and  mamma 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     147 

was  fairly  pale  with  anxiety,  as  Mrs.  Center,  who  gives 
the  swell  dinner  dances,  was  to  dine  with  her  for  the 
first  time,  and  it  was  important  to  make  an  impression, 
so  that  /  might  be  invited  to  one  or  possibly  more  of 
these  affairs,  and  so  receive  a  sort  of  social  hall  mark, 
without  which,  it  seems,  no  young  New  York  woman 
is  complete.  I  didn't  know  the  whole  of  the  reason 
then,  to  be  sure,  or  very  possibly  I  should  not  have 
worked  so  hard.  Still,  poor  mamma  is  so  in  earnest 
about  all  these  little  intricacies,  and  thinks  them  so 
important  to  my  happiness  and  fate,  or  something  else 
she  has  in  view,  that  I  am  trying  not  to  undeceive  her 
until  the  winter  is  over." 

Sylvia  spoke  with  careless  gayety,  which  was  to  my 
mind  somehow  belied  by  the  expression  of  her  eyes. 

"I  asked  Perkins  to  get  out  the  Dutch  silver,  toys 
and  all,  that  mamma  has  been  collecting  ever  since  I 
can  remember,  and  bring  down  a  long  narrow  mirror 
in  a  plain  silver  frame  that  backs  my  mantel  shelf. 
Then  I  begged  mother  to  go  for  her  beauty  sleep  and 
let  me  wrestle  with  the  flowers,  also  to  be  sure  to  wear 
her  new  Van  Dyck  gown  to  dinner. 

"This  was  not  according  to  her  plan,  but  she  went 
perforce.  I  knew  that  she  felt  extremely  dubious, 
and,  trembling  at  my  rashness,  I  set  at  work  to  make 
a  Dutch  flower  garden,  with  the  mirror  for  a  canal 


148     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

down  the  centre.  Perkins  and  his  understudies,  Potts 
and  Parker,  stood  watching  me  with  grim  faces,  ex- 
changing glances  that  seemed  to  question  my  sanity 
when  I  told  Parker  to  go  out  to  the  corner  where  I 
had  seen  workmen  that  afternoon  dump  a  load  of 
little  white  pebbles,  such  as  are  used  in  repairing  the 
paving,  and  bring  me  in  a  large  basketful.  But  when 
the  garden  was  finished,  with  the  addition  of  the  little 
Delft  windmills  I  brought  home,  and  the  family  of 
Dutch  peasant  dolls  that  we  bought  at  the  Antwerp 
fair,  Perkins  was  absolutely  moved  to  express  his 
approval. " 

"What  effect  did  the  garden  have  upon  the  dance 
invitations?  "  asked  Miss  Lavinia,  highly  amused,  and 
also  more  eager  to  hear  of  the  doings  of  society  than 
she  would  care  to  confess. 

"  Excellent !  Mrs.  Center  asked  mother  who  her  dec- 
orator was,  and  said  she  should  certainly  employ  him; 
which,  it  seems,  was  a  compliment  so  rare  that  it  was 
equivalent  to  the  falling  of  the  whole  social  sky  at 
my  feet,  Mr.  Bell  said,  who  let  the  secret  out.  I  was 
invited  to  the  last  two  of  the  series,  —  for  they  come  to 
a  conspicuous  stop  and  turn  into  theatre  parties  when 
Lent  begins,  —  and  I  really  enjoyed  myself,  the  only 
drawback  being  that  so  few  of  the  really  tall  and 
steady  men  care  for  dancing.  Most  of  my  partners 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     149 

were  very  short,  and  loitered  so,  that  I  felt  top-heavy, 
and  it  reminded  me  of  play-days,  when  I  used  to  prac- 
tise waltzing  with  the  library  fire  tongs. 

"  I  dislike  long  elaborate  dinners,  though  mamma 
delights  in  them,  and  says  one  may  observe  so 
much  that  is  useful,  but  I  do  like  to  dance  with  a 
partner  who  moves,  and  not  simply  progresses  in 
languid  ripples,  for  dancing  is  one  of  the  few  in- 
door things  that  one  is  allowed  to  do  for  oneself. 

"  Now,  Aunt  Lavinia,  you  see  the  garden  is  all 
growing  and  blowing,  and  there  are  only  enough 
tulips  left  for  the  Rookwood  jars  in  the  library," 
Sylvia  said,  stepping  back  to  look  at  the  table, 
"and  a  few  for  us  to  wear.  Lilies-of-the-valley 
for  you,  pink  tulips  for  you,  Mrs.  Evan,  —  they  will 
soon  close,  and  look  like  pointed  rosebuds,  —  yellow 
daffies  to  match  my  gown,  and  you  must  choose 
for  the  two  men  I  do  not  know.  I'll  take  a  tuft 
of  these  primroses  for  Mr.  Bradford,  and  play  they 
grew  wild.  We  always  joked  him  about  these 
flowers  at  college  until  'The  Primrose'  came  to 
be  his  nickname  among  ourselves.  Why  ? 

"  One  day  when  he  was  lecturing  to  us  on 
Wordsworth,  and  reading  examples  of  different 
styles  and  metres,  he  finished  a  rather  sentimental 
phrase  with 


150    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

'A  primrose  by  a  river's  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him 
And  it  was  nothing  more.' 

Suddenly,  the  disparity  between  the  bigness  of  the 
reader  and  the  slimness  of  the  verse  overcame  me, 
and  catching  his  eye,  I  laughed  aloud.  Of  course, 
the  entire  class  followed  in  a  chorus,  which  he, 
catching  the  point,  joined  heartily.  It  sounds  silly 
now,  but  it  seemed  very  funny  at  the  time;  and  it 
is  such  little  points  that  make  events  at  school,  and 
even  at  college." 

"  Mr.  Bradford  told  me  some  news  this  morning," 
said  Miss  Lavinia,  walking  admiringly  about  the 
table  as  she  spoke.  "  He  is  Professor  Bradford, 
of  the  University,  not  merely  the  women's  college 
now,  or  rather  will  be  at  the  beginning  of  the 
next  term." 

"That  is  pleasant  news.  I  wonder  how  old  Pro- 
fessor Jameson  happened  to  step  out,  and  why 
none  of  the  Rockcliffe  girls  have  written  me  about 
it." 

"  He  did  not  tell  me  any  details ;  said  that  they 
would  keep  until  to-night.  We  met  him  in  the 
street  this  morning,  immediately  after  we  left  you," 
and  Miss  Lavinia  gave  a  brief  account  of  our 
shopping. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     151 

"That  sounds  quite  like  him.  All  his  air  castles 
seemed  to  be  built  about  his  mother  and  the  old 
farm  at  Pine  Ridge.  He  has  often  told  me  how 
easy  it  would  be  to  get  back  the  house  to  the  colo- 
nial style,  with  wide  fireplaces,  that  it  was  originally, 
and  he  always  had  longings  to  be  in  a  position  to 
coax  his  mother  to  come  to  Northbridge  for  the 
winter,  and  keep  a  little  apartment  for  him.  Per- 
haps he  will  be  able  to  do  both  now." 

Sylvia  spoke  with  keen  but  quite  impersonal 
interest,  and  looking  at  her  I  began  to  wonder  if 
here  might  not,  after  all,  be  the  comrade  type  of 
woman  in  whose  existence  I  never  before  believed, 
— feminine,  sympathetic,  buoyant,  yet  capable  of 
absolutely  rational  and  unemotional  friendship  with 
a  man  within  ten  years  of  her  own  age.  But  after 
all  it  is  common  enough  to  find  the  first  half  of 
such  a  friendship,  it  is  the  unit  that  is  difficult; 
and  I  had  then  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing  the 
two  together. 

We  went  upstairs  together,  and  lingered  by  the 
fire  in  Miss  Lavinia's  sitting  room  before  going  to 
make  ready  for  dinner.  The  thaw  of  the  morning 
was  again  locked  by  ice,  and  it  was  quite  a  nippy 
night  for  the  season.  I  revelled  mentally  in  the 
fact  that  my  dinner  waist  was  crimson  in  colour, 


152     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

and  abbreviated  only  in  the  way  of  elbow  sleeves, 
and  the  pretty  low  corn-coloured  crepe  bodice  that 
I  saw  Lucy  unpacking  from  Sylvia's  suit  case 
quite  made  me  shiver. 

The  only  light  in  Miss  Lavinia's  den,  other  than 
the  fire,  was  a  low  lamp,  with  a  soft-hued  amber 
shade,  so  that  the  room  seemed  to  draw  close 
about  one  like  protecting  arms,  country  fashion, 
instead  of  seeking  to  turn  one  out,  which  is  the 
feeling  that  so  many  of  the  stately  apartments  in 
the  great  city  houses  give  me. 

When  I  am  indoors  I  want  space  to  move  and 
breathe  in,  of  course,  but  I  like  to  feel  intrenched ; 
and  only  when  I  open  the  door  and  step  outside, 
do  I  wish  to  give  myself  up  to  space,  for  Nature 
is  the  only  one  who  really  knows  how  to  handle 
vastness  without  overdoing  it. 

As  we  sat  there  in  silence  I  watched  the  play 
of  firelight  on  Sylvia's  face,  and  the  same  thought 
seemed  to  cross  it  as  she  closed  her  eyes  and 
nestled  back  in  Miss  Lavinia's  funny  little  fat 
sewing  chair,  that  was  like  a  squab  done  in  uphol- 
stery. Then,  as  the  clock  struck  six,  she  started, 
rubbed  her  eyes,  and  crossed  the  hall  to  her  room 
half  in  a  dream. 

"She  is  as  like  her  Grandmother  Latham  when 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     153 

I  first  saw  her,  as  a  girl  of  twenty-one  can  be  like 
a  woman  of  fifty,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  from  the 
lounge  close  at  my  elbow.  "Not  in  colouring  or 
feature,  but  in  poise  and  gesture.  The  Lathams 
were  of  Massachusetts  stock,  and  have,  I  imagine, 
a  good  deal  of  the  Plymouth  Rock  mixture  in  their 
back-bones.  Her  father  has  the  reputation,  in  fact, 
of  being  all  rock,  if  not  quite  of  the  Plymouth 
variety.  Well,  I  think  she  will  need  it,  poor  child; 
that  is,  if  any  of  the  rumours  that  are  beginning 
to  float  in  the  air  settle  to  the  ground." 

"  Meaning  what  ? "  I  asked,  half  unconsciously, 
and  paying  little  heed,  for  I  then  realized  that  the 
daily  letter  from  father  had  not  arrived;  and  Lucy 
at  that  moment  came  in,  lit  the  lamps,  and  began 
to  rattle  the  hair-brushes  in  Miss  Lavinia's  bed- 
room, which  I  took  as  a  signal  for  me  to  leave. 

The  door-bell  rang.  It  was  Evan;  but  before 
I  met  him  halfway  on  the  stairs,  he  called  up : 
"  I  telephoned  home  an  hour  ago,  and  they  are  all 
well.  The  storm  held  over  last  night  there.  Father 
says  it  was  the  most  showy  snow  they  have  had 
for  years,  and  he  was  delayed  in  getting  his  letter 
to  the  post." 

"Is  that  all?"  I  asked,  as  I  got  down  far  enough 
to  rest  my  hands  on  his  shoulders. 


154    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"Yes;  the  wires  buzzed  badly  and  did  not 
encourage  gossip.  Ah ! "  (this  with  an  effort  to 
appear  as  if  it  was  an  afterthought),  "  I  told  him 
I  thought  that  you  would  not  wait  for  me  to- 
morrow, but  probably  go  home  on  the  9 : 30.  Not 
that  I  really  committed  you  to  it  if  you  have  other 
plans!" 

******* 

Martin  Cortright  appeared  some  five  minutes 
before  Horace  Bradford.  As  it  chanced,  when 
the  latter  came  in  the  door  Sylvia  was  on  the 
stairs,  so  that  her  greeting  and  hearty  handshake 
were  given  looking  down  at  him,  and  she  waited 
in  the  hall,  in  a  perfectly  unembarrassed  way,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  while  he  freed  himself  from 
his  heavy  coat.  His  glance  at  the  tall  girl,  who 
came  down  from  the  darkness  above,  in  her  shim- 
mering gown,  with  golden  daffies  in  her  hair  and 
on  her  breast,  like  a  beam  of  wholesome  sunshine, 
was  full  of  honest,  personal  admiration.  If  it  had 
been  otherwise  I  should  have  been  disappointed  in 
the  man's  completeness.  Then,  looking  at  them 
from  out  of  the  library  shadows,  I  wondered  what 
he  would  have  thought  if  his  entry  had  been  at 
the  Latham  home  instead  of  at  Miss  Lavinia's,  how 
he  would  have  passed  the  ordeal  of  Perkins,  Potts, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     155 

and  Parker,  and  if  his  spontaneity  would  have  been 
marred  by  the  formality. 

Perhaps  he  would  have  been  oblivious.  Some 
men  have  the  happy  gift  of  not  being  annoyed 
by  things  that  are  thorns  in  the  flesh  to  otherwise 
quite  independent  women.  Father,  however,  is 
always  amused  by  flunkies,  and  treats  them  as  an 
expected  part  of  the  show;  even  as  the  jovial 
Autocrat  did  when,  at  a  grand  London  house,  "it 
took  full  six  men  in  red  satin  knee-breeches "  to 
admit  him  and  his  companion. 

Bradford  did  not  wear  an  evening  suit;  neither 
did  he  deem  apology  necessary.  If  he  thought 
of  the  matter  at  all,  which  I  doubt,  he  evidently 
considered  that  he  was  among  friends,  who  would 
make  whatever  excuses  were  necessary  from  the 
circumstances  of  his  hurried  trip. 

Then  we  went  in  to  the  dining-room,  Miss 
Lavinia  leading  with  Martin  Cortright,  as  the  most 
recent  acquaintance,  and  therefore  formal  guest,  the 
rest  of  us  following  in  a  group.  Miss  Lavinia,  of 
course,  took  the  head  of  the  table,  Evan  opposite, 
and  the  two  men,  Cortright  on  her  right  and  Brad- 
ford on  her  left,  making  Sylvia  and  me  vis-a-vis. 

The  men  appropriated  their  buttonhole  flowers 
naturally.  Martin  smiled  at  my  choice  for  him, 


156     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

which  was  a  small,  but  chubby,  red  and  yellow, 
uncompromising  Dutch  tulip,  far  too  stout  to  be 
able  to  follow  its  family  habit  of  night  closing, 
except  to  contract  itself  slightly.  Evan  caressed 
his  lilies-of-the-valley  lightly  with  his  finger-tips 
as  he  fastened  them  in  place,  but  Bradford  broke 
into  a  boyish  laugh,  and  then  blushed  to  the  eyes, 
when  he  saw  the  tiny  bunch  of  primroses,  say- 
ing: "You  have  a  long  memory,  Miss  Sylvia, 
yet  mine  is  longer.  May  I  have  a  sprig  of  that, 
too  ? "  and  he  reached  over  a  big-boned  hand  to 
where  the  greenhouse-bred  wands  of  yellow  For- 
sythia  were  laid  in  a  formal  pattern  bordering  the 
paths.  "That  is  the  first  flower  that  I  remember. 
A  great  bush  of  it  used  to  grow  in  a  protected 
spot  almost  against  the  kitchen  window  at  home; 
and  when  I  see  a  bit  of  it  in  a  strange  place,  for 
a  minute  I  collapse  into  the  little  chap  in  out- 
rageous gathered  trousers,  who  used  to  reach  out 
the  window  for  the  top  twigs,  that  blossomed  ear- 
liest, so  as  to  be  the  first  to  carry  '  yellow  bells ' 
to  school  for  a  teacher  that  I  used  to  think  was 
Venus  and  Minerva  rolled  in  one.  I  saw  her  in 
Boston  the  other  day,  and  the  Venus  hallucination 
is  shattered,  but  the  yellow  bells  look  just  the 
same,  proving  — 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL     157 

"  That  every  prospect  pleases 
And  man  (or  woman)  alone  is  vile," 

interpolated  Evan. 

Grape  fruit,  with  a  dash  of  sherry,  or  the  more 
wholesome  sloe-gin,  is  Miss  Lavinia's  compromise  with 
the  before-dinner  cocktail  of  society,  that  is  really 
very  awakening  to  both  brain  and  digestion ;  and 
before  the  quaint  silver  soup  tureen  had  disappeared, 
even  Martin  Cortright  had  not  only  come  wholly  out 
of  his  shell,  but  might  have  been  said  to  have  fairly 
perched  on  top  of  it,  before  starting  on  a  reminiscent 
career  with  his  hostess,  beginning  at  one  of  the 
monthly  meetings  of  the  Historical  Society;  for 
though  Martin's  past  belonged  more  to  the  "  Second 
Avenue  "  faction  of  the  old  east  side,  and  Miss  La- 
vinia  to  the  west,  among  the  environs  of  what  had 
once  been  Greenwich  and  Chelsea  villages,  they  had 
trodden  the  same  paths,  though  not  at  the  same  time. 
While  Sylvia  and  the  "  Professor,"  as  she  at  once 
began  to  call  him,  picked  up  the  web  of  the  college 
loom  that  takes  in  threads  of  silk,  wool,  and  cotton, 
and  mixing  or  separating  them  at  random,  turns  out 
garments  of  complete  fashion  and  pattern,  or  misfits 
full  of  false  starts  or  dropped  stitches  that  not  only 
hamper  the  wearers,  but  sometimes  their  families,  for 
life.  All  that  Evan  and  I  had  to  do  was  to  maintain 


158     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

a  sympathetic  silence,  kept  by  occasional  ejaculations 
and  murmurs  from  growing  so  profound  as  to  cause 
a  draught  at  our  corner  of  the  table. 

"  Yes,  we  used  to  go  there  regularly,"  I  heard  Miss 
Lavinia  say;  "when  we  were  girls  Eleanor  (Bar- 
bara's mother)  and  I  attended  the  same  school  —  Miss 
Black's,  —  Eleanor  being  a  boarding  and  I  a  day  pupil 
and  a  clergyman's  daughter  also,  which,  in  those 
days,  was  considered  a  sort  of  patent  of  respectability. 
Miss  Black  used  to  allow  her  to  spend  the  shorter 
holidays  with  me  and  go  to  those  historical  lectures 
as  a  matter  of  course.  We  never  publicly  mentioned 
the  fact  that  Eleanor  also  liked  to  come  to  my  house 
to  get  thoroughly  warmed  and  take  a  bath,  as  one  of 
Miss  Black's  principles  of  education  was  that  feminine 
propriety  and  cold  rooms  were  synonymous,  and  the 
long  room  with  a  glass  roof,  sacred  to  bathing,  was 
known  as  the  '  refrigerator ' ;  but  those  atrocities  that 
were  committed  in  the  name  of  education  have  for- 
tunately been  stopped  by  education  itself.  I  don't 
think  that  either  of  us  paid  much  attention  to  the 
lectures ;  the  main  thing  was  to  get  out  and  go  some- 
where ;  yet  I  don't  think  any  other  later  good  times 
were  as  breathlessly  fascinating. 

"  Mother  seldom  went,  the  hermetically  sealed,  air- 
proof  architecture  of  the  place  not  agreeing  with  her ; 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     159 

so  father,  Eleanor,  and  I  used  to  walk  over,  crossing 
the  head  of  Washington  Square,  until,  as  we  passed 
St.  Mark's  Church  and  reached  the  steps  of  the  build- 
ing, we  often  headed  a  procession  as  sedate  and 
serious  as  if  going  to  Sunday  meeting,  for  there  were 
fewer  places  to  go  in  those  days.  Once  within,  we 
usually  crept  well  up  front,  for  my  father  was  one  of 
the  executive  committee  who  sat  in  the  row  of  chairs 
immediately  facing  the  platform,  and  to  be  near  him 
added  several  inches  to  my  stature  and  importance, 
at  least  in  my  own  estimation.  Then,  too,  there  was 
always  the  awesome  and  fascinating  possibility  that 
one  of  these  honourable  personages  might  fall  audi- 
bly asleep,  or  slip  from  his  chair  in  a  moment  of 
relaxation.  Such  events  had  been  known  to  occur. 
In  fact,  my  father's  habit  of  settling  down  until 
his  neck  rested  upon  the  low  chair  back,  made 
the  slipping  accident  a  perpetual  possibility  in  his 
case. 

"  Then,  when  the  meeting  was  called  to  order,  and 
the  minutes  read  with  many  h-hems  and  clearings 
of  the  throat,  and  the  various  motions  put  to  vote  with 
the  mumbled  'All-in-favour- of- the-motion -will-please- 
signify-by-saying-  Ay !  Contrary-minded-no-the-mo- 
tion-is-accepted ! '  that  some  one  would  only  say  'No' 
was  our  perpetual  wish,  and  we  even  once  meditated 


160    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

doing  it  ourselves,  but  could  not  decide  which  should 
take  the  risk. 

"  Another  one  of  our  amusements  was  to  give  odd 
names  to  the  dignitaries  who  presided.  One  with 
lurching  gait,  erectile  whiskers,  and  blinking  eyes 
we  called  '  The  Owl ' ;  while  another,  a  handsome 
old  man  of  the  '  Signer '  type,  pink-cheeked,  deep 
eyed,  with  a  fine  aquiline  nose,  we  named  'The 
Eagle.'  " 

"Oh,  I  know  whom  you  mean,  exactly!"  cried 
Martin,  throwing  back  his  head  and  laughing  as 
heartily  as  Bradford  might ;  "  and  '  The  Owl '  was 
supposed  to  have  intentions  of  perpetuating  his  name 
by  leaving  the  society  money  enough  for  a  new  build- 
ing, but  he  didn't.  But  then,  he  doubtless  inherited 
his  thrift  from  the  worthy  ancestors  of  the  ilk  of  those 
men  who  utilized  trousers  for  a  land  measure.  Do 
you  also  remember  the  discussions  that  followed  the 
reading  of  paper  or  lecture  ?  Sometimes  quite  heated 
ones  too,  if  the  remarks  had  ventured  to  even  graze 
the  historical  bunions  that  afflicted  the  feet  of  many 
old  families." 

"  No,  I  think  we  were  too  anxious  to  have  the  meet- 
ing declared  adjourned  to  heed  such  things.  How  we 
stretched  ourselves ;  the  physical  oppression  that  had 
been  settling  for  an  hour  or  two  lifting  suddenly  as 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     161 

we  got  on  our  feet  and  felt  that  we  might  speak  in 
our  natural  voices. 

"  Then  father  would  say,  '  You  may  go  upstairs  and 
examine  the  curiosities  before  joining  us  in  the  base- 
ment,' and  we  would  go  up  timidly  and  inspect  the 
Egyptian  mummy.  I  wonder  how  he  felt  last  year 
when  there  was  a  reception  in  the  hall  and  a  band 
broke  the  long  stillness  with '  The  Gay  Tomtit.'  Was 
ever  such  chocolate  or  such  sandwiches  served  in 
equally  sepulchral  surroundings  as  in  the  long  room 
below  stairs.  I  remember  wondering  if  the  early 
Christians  ever  lunched  in  the  catacombs,  and  how 
they  felt ;  and  I  should  not  have  been  surprised  if 
Lazarus  himself  had  appeared  in  one  of  the  archways 
trailing  his  graveclothes  after  him,  so  strong  was  the 
spell  of  the  mummy  upon  us. 

"  It  seems  really  very  odd  that  you  were  one  of 
those  polite  young  men  who  used  sometimes  to  pass 
the  plates  of  sandwiches  to  us  where  we  stayed  hidden 
in  a  corner  so  that  the  parental  eye  need  not  see  how 
many  we  consumed." 

Thus  did  Martin  Cortright  and  Miss  Lavinia  meet 
on  common  ground  and  drift  into  easy  friendship 
which  it  would  have  taken  years  of  conventional  inter- 
course to  accomplish,  while  opposite,,  the  talk  between 
Sylvia  and  Bradford  dwelt  upon  the  new  professor- 


162     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

ship  and  Sylvia's  roommate  of  two  years,  who,  instead 
of  being  able  to  remain  and  finish  the  course  which 
was  to  fit  her  for  gaining  nominal  independence 
through  teaching,  had  been  obliged  to  go  home  and 
take  charge,  owing  to  her  mother's  illness. 

"Yes,  Professor  Jameson's  decision  to  give  all  his 
time  to  outside  literary  work  was  very  sudden,"  I 
heard  Bradford  say.  "  I  thought  that  it  might  happen 
two  or  three  years  hence;  but  to  find  myself  now  not 
only  in  possession  of  a  salary  of  four  thousand  dollars 
a  year  (hardly  a  fortune  in  New  York,  I  suppose),  but 
also  freed  this  season  from  being  tied  at  Northbridge 
to  teach  in  the  summer  school,  and  able  to  be  at  home 
in  peace  and  quiet  and  get  together  my  little  book  of 
the  '  Country  of  the  English  Poets,'  seems  to  me  almost 
unbelievable." 

"  I  have  been  wondering  how  the  book  was  coming 
on,  for  you  never  wrote  of  it,"  answered  Sylvia.  "  I 
have  been  trying  all  winter,  without  success,  to  ar- 
range my  photographs  in  scrap-books  with  merely 
names  and  dates.  But  though,  as  I  look  back  over 
the  four  months,  everything  has  been  done  for  me, 
even  to  the  buttoning  of  my  gloves,  while  I've  seem- 
ingly done  nothing  for  any  one,  I've  barely  had  a  mo- 
ment that  I  could  call  my  own." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  it  is  strange,  after  having  been 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     163 

away  practically  for  six  years,  that  family  life  and 
your  friends  should  absorb  you.  Doubtless  you  will 
have  time  now  that  Lent  has  come,"  said  Bradford, 
smiling.  "  Of  course  we  country  Congregationalists 
do  not  treat  the  season  as  you  Anglican  Catholics  do, 
and  I've  often  thought  it  rather  a  pity.  It  must  be 
good  to  have  a  stated  time  and  season  for  stopping 
and  sitting  down  to  look  at  oneself.  I  picked  up  one 
of  your  New  York  church  papers  in  the  library  the 
other  day,  and  was  fairly  surprised  at  the  number  of 
services  and  the  scope  of  the  movement  and  the  work 
of  the  church  in  general." 

Sylvia  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  an  odd  ex- 
pression in  her  eyes,  as  if  questioning  the  sincerity  of 
his  remarks,  and  then  answered,  I  thought  a  little 
sadly  :  "  I'm  afraid  it  is  very  much  like  other  things 
we  read  of  in  the  papers,  half  truth,  half  fiction ;  the 
churches  and  the  services  are  there,  and  the  good  ear- 
nest people,  too  —  but  as  for  our  stopping !  Ah,  Mr. 
Bradford,  I  can  hardly  expect  to  make  you  understand 
how  it  is,  for  I  cannot  myself.  It  was  all  so  different 
before  I  went  to  boarding  school,  and  we  lived  down 
in  the  house  in  Waverley  Place  where  I  was  born. 
The  people  of  mamma's  world  do  not  stop  ;  we  sim- 
ply whirl  to  a  slightly  different  tune.  It's  like  waltz- 
ing one  way  around  a  ballroom  until  you  are  quite 


164    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

dizzy,  and  then  reversing,  —  there  is  no  sitting  down 
to  rest,  that  is,  unless  it  is  to  play  cards." 

"  Yet  whist  is  a  restful  game  in  itself,"  said  Brad- 
ford, cheerfully ;  "  an  evening  of  whist,  with  even 
fairly  intelligent  partners,  I've  always  found  a  great 
smoother-out  of  nerves  and  wrinkles." 

"They  do  not  play  it  that  way  here,"  answered 
Sylvia,  laughing,  in  spite  of  herself,  at  his  quiet  assump- 
tion. "  It's  '  bridge '  for  money  or  expensive  prizes ; 
and  compared  to  the  excitement  it  causes,  the  taran- 
tella is  a  sitting-down  dance.  I'm  too  stupid  with 
cards  to  take  the  risk  of  playing;  even  mamma  does 
not  advise  it  yet,  though  she  wishes  to  have  me 
coached.  So  I  shall  have  some  time  to  myself  after 
all,  for  my  defect  puts  me  out  of  three  Lenten  card 
clubs  to  which  mamma  belongs,  two  of  which  meet  at 
our  house.  That  leaves  only  two  sewing  classes, 
three  Lenten  theatre  clubs  (one  for  lunch  and  matinee 
and  two  for  dinner  and  the  evening),  and  Mr.  Bell's 
cake-walk  club,  that  practises  with  a  teacher  at  our 
house  on  Monday  evenings.  The  club  is  to  have  a 
semi-public  performance  at  the  Waldorf  for  charity, 
in  Easter  week,  and  as  the  tickets  are  to  be  ten  dollars 
each,  they  expect  to  make  a  great  deal  of  money.  So 
you  see  there  is  very  little  time  allowed  us  to  sit  down 
and  look  at  ourselves." 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     165 

"  I  cannot  excuse  cake-walking  off  the  stage,  among 
civilized  people,"  interpolated  Miss  Lavinia,  catching 
the  word  but  not  the  connection,  and  realizing  that,  as 
hostess,  she  had  inconsiderately  lost  the  thread  of  the 
conversation.  "  It  appeals  to  me  as  the  expression  of 
physical  exuberance  of  a  lower  race,  and  for  people 
of  our  grade  of  intelligence  to  imitate  it  is  certainly 
lowering !  The  more  successfully  it  is  carried  out  the 
worse  it  is !  " 

Miss  Lavinia  spoke  so  fiercely  that  everybody 
laughed  but  Sylvia,  who  coloured  painfully,  and 
Horace  Bradford  deftly  changed  the  subject  in  the 
lull  that  followed. 

***«#* 

The  men  did  not  care  to  be  left  alone  with  their 
cigars  and  coffee,  so  we  lingered  in  the  dining-room. 
Suddenly  a  shrieking  whistle  sounded  in  the  street, 
and  the  rapid  clatter  of  hoofs  made  us  listen,  while 
Evan  rushed  to  the  door,  seizing  his  hat  on  the 
way. 

"  Only  the  fire  engines,"  said  Miss  Lavinia ;  "  you 
would  soon  be  used  to  them  if  you  lived  here;  the 
engine  house  is  almost  around  the  corner." 

"Don't  you  ever  go  after  them?"  I  asked,  without 
thinking,  because  to  Evan  and  me  going  to  fires  is  one 
of  the  standard  attractions  of  our  New  York. 


166     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  Barbara,  child,  don't  be  absurd.  What  should  I 
do  traipsing  after  an  engine?" 

"Yet  a  good  fire  is  a  very  exciting  spectacle.  I 
once  had  the  habit  of  going,"  said  Martin  Cortright, 
emerging  from  a  cloud  of  cigar  smoke.  "I  remember 
when  Barnum's  Museum  was  burned  my  father  and  I 
ran  to  the  fire  together  and  stayed  out,  practically,  all 
night." 

More  whistling  and  a  fresh  galloping  of  hoofs  indi- 
cated that  there  was  a  second  call,  and  the  engines 
from  up  town  were  answering.  I  began  to  tap  my 
feet  restlessly,  and  Miss  Lavinia  noticed  it. 

"Don't  hesitate  to  go  if  you  wish  to,"  she  said. 
At  the  same  moment  Evan  dashed  back,  calling: 
"It's  a  fire  on  the  river  front,  a  lumber  yard;  plenty  of 
work  ahead,  with  little  danger  and  a  wonderful  spec- 
tacle. Why  can  we  not  all  go  to  see  it,  for  it's  only 
half  a  dozen  blocks  away?  Bundle  up,  though,  it's 
bitterly  cold." 

Horace  Bradford  sprang  to  his  feet  and  Sylvia 
was  halfway  upstairs  and  fairly  out  of  her  evening 
gown  when  Miss  Lavinia  made  up  her  mind  to  go 
also,  Evan's  words  having  the  infection  of  a  stampede. 

"Don't  forget  the  apples,"  I  called  to  Evan  as  I 
followed  my  hostess. 

"The  shops  and  stands  are  closed,  I'm  afraid,"  he 


THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL     167 

called  back  from  the  stoop  where  he  was  waiting; 
"perhaps  Miss  Lavinia  has  some  in  the  house." 

"Apples,  yes,  plenty;  but  for  mercy's  sake  what 
for?  You  surely  aren't  thinking  of  pelting  the  fire 
out  with  them!"  she  gasped,  hurrying  downstairs  and 
struggling  to  disentangle  her  eyeglasses  from  her 
bonnet  strings;  a  complication  that  was  always  hap- 
pening at  crucial  moments,  such  as  picking  out  change 
in  an  elevated  railway  station,  and  thereby  blocking 
the  crowd. 

"No,  apples  to  feed  the  fire  horses;  Barbara  always 
does,"  Evan  answered,  dashing  down  the  basement 
stairs  to  the  kitchen,  and  returning  quickly  with  a 
medley  of  apples  and  soup  vegetables  in  a  dish-towel 
bundle,  leaving  the  solemn  cook  speechlessly  aston- 
ished. 

Then  we  started  off,  Evan  leading  the  way,  and 
the  procession  straggling  after  in  Indian  file;  for 
the  back  streets  were  not  well  shovelled,  and  to 
go  two  abreast  meant  that  one  foot  of  each  was 
on  a  side  hill.  Evan  fairly  dragged  me  along. 
Sylvia  and  Bradford,  being  fleet  of  foot,  had  no 
difficulty  in  following,  but  Martin  and  Miss  Lavinia 
had  rather  a  bumpy  time  of  it.  Still,  as  pretty  much 
all  the  uncrippled  inhabitants  of  the  district  were 
going  the  same  way,  our  flight  was  not  conspicuous. 


168     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

It  was,  as  Evan  had  promised,  a  glorious  fire ! 
Long  before  we  reached  the  Hudson  the  sky 
rayed  and  flamed  with  all  the  smokeless  change 
of  the  Northern  Lights.  Once  there,  Evan  piloted 
us  through  the  densely  packed  crowd  to  the  side 
string-piece  of  a  pier,  Miss  Lavinia  giving  little 
shrieks  the  while,  and  begging  not  to  be  pushed 
into  the  water. 

From  this  point  the  great  stacks  of  lumber  that 
made  the  giant  bonfire  could  be  seen  at  the  two 
points,  from  land  and  water  side,  where  the  fire- 
boats  were  shooting  streams  from  their  well-aimed 
nozzles. 

As  usual,  after  running  the  steam-pumping  engines 
as  close  as  desirable  to  the  flames,  the  horses  were 
detached,  blanketed,  and  tied  up  safe  from  harm, 
and  we  found  a  group  of  three  great  intelligent 
iron-gray  beauties  close  behind  us,  who  accepted 
the  contents  of  the  dish-towel  with  almost  hu*nan 
appreciation,  while  a  queer,  wise,  brown  dog,  an 
engine  mascot,  who  was  perched  on  the  back  of 
the  middle  horse,  shared  the  petting  with  a  politely 
matter-of-fact  air. 

"It  is  wonderful !  I  only  wish  I  could  see  a 
little  better,"  murmured  Miss  Lavinia,  who  was 
short,  and  buried  in  the  crowd. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     169 

"  Why  not  stand  on  this  barrel  ? "  suggested 
Bradford,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  It's  full  of  garbage  and  ashes,"  she  objected. 

"  Never  mind  that,  they  are  frozen  hard,"  replied 
Bradford,  poking  the  mass  practically. 

Three  pairs  of  hands  tugged  and  boosted,  and 
lo !  Miss  Lavinia  was  safely  perched ;  and  as  there 
were  more  barrels  Sylvia  and  I  quickly  followed 
suit,  and  we  soon  all  became  spellbound  at  the 
dramatic  contrasts,  for  every  now  and  again  a 
fresh  pile  of  Georgia  pine  would  be  devoured  by 
the  flames,  the  sudden  flare  coming  like  a  noise- 
less explosion,  making  the  air  fragrantly  resinous, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  outer  boundaries  of 
the  doomed  lumber  yard  were  being  draped  with 
a  fantastic  ice  fabric  from  the  water  that  froze  as 
it  fell. 

As  to  the  firemen !  don't  talk  to  me  of  the 
bygone  bravery  of  the  crusaders  and  the  lords  of 
feudal  times,  who  spent  their  lives  in  the  sport 
of  encamping  outside  of  fortresses,  at  whose  walls 
they  occasionally  butted  with  rams,  lances,  and 
strong  language,  leaving  their  wives  and  children 
in  badly  drained  and  draughty  castles.  If  any  one 
wishes  to  see  brave  men  and  true,  simply  come  to 
a  fire  with  Evan  and  me  in  our  New  York. 


170    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

We  might  have  stood  there  on  our  garbage 
pedestals  half  the  night  if  Horace  Bradford  had 
not  remembered  that  he  must  catch  the  midnight 
express,  glanced  at  his  watch,  found  that  it  was 
already  nearly  half-past  ten,  and  realized  that  he 
had  left  his  grip  at  Miss  Lavinia's.  Consequently 
we  dismounted  and  pushed  our  way  home. 

As  we  were  half  groping  our  way  up  ill-lighted 
West  Tenth  Street  Martin  Cortright  paused  sud- 
denly and,  after  looking  about,  remarked :  "  This 
is  certainly  a  most  interesting  locality.  That  build- 
ing opposite,  which  has  long  been  a  brewery,  was 
once,  in  part  at  least,  the  first  city  or  State's 
Prison.  How  often  criminals  must  have  traversed 
this  very  route  we  are  following,  on  their  way  to 
Washington  Square  to  be  hanged.  For  you  know 
that  place,  of  later  years  esteemed  so  select,  was 
once  not  only  the  site  of  Potter's  Field,  but  of 
the  city  gallows  as  well!" 

No  one,  however,  joined  more  heartily  than  he 
in  the  merriment  that  his  inapropos  reminiscence 
caused,  and  we  reached  home  in  a  good  humour 
that  effectually  kept  off  the  cold. 

"  Did  you  succeed  in  buying  the  gown  ?  "  Horace 
Bradford  asked  Miss  Lavinia,  as  he  stood  in  the 
hall  making  his  farewells. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     171 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  had  almost  forgotten.  Here  is  the 
package  only  waiting  for  your  approval  to  be 
tied,"  and  she  led  the  way  to  the  library. 

Bradford  touched  the  articles  with  his  big  fingers, 
as  lovingly  as  if  he  were  smoothing  his  mother's 
hair,  or  her  hand. 

"They  are  exactly  right,"  he  said  heartily,  turn- 
ing and  grasping  Miss  Lavinia's  hand,  as  he  looked 
straight  into  her  eyes  with  an  expression  of  mingled 
gratitude  and  satisfaction.  "She  will  thank  you 
herself,  when  we  all  meet  next  summer,"  and  with 
a  happy  look  at  Sylvia,  who  had  come  to  the 
library  to  see  the  gifts,  and  was  leaning  on  the  table, 
he  grasped  bag  and  parcel,  shook  hands  all  round, 
and  hurried  away. 

"What  do  you  think?"  I  asked  Evan,  as  we 
closed  our  bedroom  door. 

"Of  what?"  he  answered,  with  the  occasional 
obtuseness  that  will  overtake  the  best  of  men. 

"Of  Sylvia  and  Bradford,  of  course.  Are  they 
in  love,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  I  rather  think  that  he  is,"  Evan  answered, 
slowly,  as  if  bringing  his  mind  from  afar,  "but 
that  he  doesn't  know  it,  and  I  hope  he  may  stay 
in  ignorance,  for  it  will  do  him  no  good,  for  I  am 
sure  that  she  is  not,  at  least  with  Bradford.  She 


i;2     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

is  drifting  about  in  the  Whirlpool  now.  She  has  not 
'  found  herself '  in  any  way,  as  yet.  She  seems  a 
charming  girl,  but  I  warn  you,  Barbara,  don't  think 
you  scent  romance,  and  try  to  put  a  finger  in  this 
pie !  Your  knowledge  of  complex  human  nature 
isn't  nearly  as  big  as  your  heart,  and  the  Latham 
set  are  wholly  beyond  your  ken  and  comprehen- 
sion." Then  Evan,  declining  to  argue  the  matter, 
went  promptly  to  sleep. 

Not  so  Sylvia.  When  Miss  Lavinia  went  to  her 
room  to  see  if  the  girl  was  comfortable  and  have 
a  little  go-to-bed  chat  by  the  fire,  she  found  her 
stretched  upon  the  bed,  her  head  hidden  between 
the  pillows,  in  a  vain  effort  to  stifle  her  passionate 
sobbing. 

"What  is  it,  my  child?"  she  asked,  truly  dis- 
tressed. "Are  you  tired,  or  have  you  taken  cold, 
or  what?" 

"  No,  nothing  like  that,"  she  whispered,  keeping 
her  face  hidden  and  jerking  out  disjointed  sentences, 
"but  I  can't  do  anything  for  anybody.  No  one 
really  depends  on  me  for  anything.  Helen  Baker 
must  leave  college,  because  they  need  her  at  home, 
—  just  think,  need  her  !  Isn't  that  happiness  ?  And 
Mr.  Bradford  is  so  joyful  over  his  new  salary, 
thinks  it  is  a  fortune,  and  with  being  able  to  buy 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     173 

those  things  for  his  mother,  —  father  has  sent  me 
more  money  during  the  four  months  I've  been 
back,  so  I  may  feel  independent,  he  says,  than 
the  Professor  will  earn  in  a  year.  Independent? 
deserted  is  a  better  word !  I  hardly  know  my  own 
parents,  I  find,  and  they  expect  nothing  from  me, 
even  my  companionship. 

"  Before  I  went  away  to  school,  if  mamma  was  ill, 
I  used  to  carry  up  her  breakfast,  and  brush  her 
hair ;  now  she  treats  me  almost  like  a  stranger,  — 
dislikes  my  going  to  her  room  at  odd  times.  I 
hardly  ever  see  her,  she  is  always  so  busy,  and  if 
I  beg  to  be  with  her,  as  I  did  once,  she  says  I  do 
not  understand  her  duty  to  society. 

"  People  should  not  have  children  and  then  send 
them  away  to  school  until  they  feel  like  strangers, 
and  their  homes  drift  so  far  away  that  they  do 
not  know  them  when  they  come  back,  —  and  there's 
poor  Carthy  out  west  all  alone,  after  the  plans  we 
made  to  be  together.  It  is  all  so  different  from 
what  I  expected.  Why  does  not  father  come  home, 
or  mother  seem  to  mind  that  he  stays  away  ? 
What  is  the  matter,  Aunt  Lavinia  ?  Is  mamma  hid- 
ing something,  or  is  the  fault  all  mine?" 

Miss  Lavinia  closed  the  door,  and  soothed  the 
excited  girl,  talking  to  her  for  an  hour,  and  in  fact 


174    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

slept  on  the  lounge,  and  did  not  return  to  her 
own  room  until  morning.  She  was  surprised  at 
the  storm  in  a  clear  sky,  but  not  at  the  cause. 
Miss  Lavinia  was  keenly  observant,  and  from  two 
years'  daily  intercourse,  she  knew  Sylvia's  nature 
thoroughly.  For  some  reasons,  she  wished  with 
all  her  heart  that  Sylvia  was  in  love  with  Horace 
Bradford,  and  at  the  same  time  feared  for  it;  but 
before  the  poor  girl  fell  asleep,  she  was  convinced 
that  such  was  not  the  case,  and  that  the  trouble 
that  was  already  rising  well  up  from  her  horizon 
was  something  far  more  complicated. 


VIII 

THE   SWEATING   OF   THE   CORN 

April  14.  Every  one  who  has  led,  even  in  a  partial 
degree,  the  life  outdoors,  must  recognize  his  kinship 
with  the  soil.  It  was  the  first  recorded  fact  of  race 
history  embodied  in  the  Old  Testament  allegory  of 
the  creation,  and  it  would  seem  from  the  beginning 
that  nations  have  been  strong  or  weak,  as  they 
acknowledged  or  sought  to  suppress  it. 

I  read  a  deeper  meaning  in  my  garden  book  as  the 
boys'  human  calendar  runs  parallel  with  it,  and  I  can 
see  month  by  month  and  day  by  day  that  it  is  truly 
the  touch  of  Nature  that  makes  kindred  of  us  all — the 
throb  of  the  human  heart  and  not  the  touch  of  learn- 
ing or  the  arts. 

Everything  grows  restless  as  spring  comes  on — 
animate,  and  what  is  called  inanimate,  nature.  March 
is  the  trying  month  of  indecision,  the  tug-of-war 
between  winter  and  spring,  pulling  us  first  one  way 
and  then  the  other,  the  victory  often  being,  until  the 
final  moment,  on  the  side  of  winter.  Then  comes  a 
languid  period  of  inaction,  and  a  swift  recovery. 


i/6    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

When  the  world  finally  throws  off  frost  bondage, 
sun  and  the  earth  call,  while  humanity,  indoors  and 
out,  in  city  tenement  as  well  as  in  farmhouse,  hears 
the  voice,  even  though  its  words  are  meaningless, 
and  grows  restless. 

Lavinia  Dorman  writes  that  she  is  feeling  tired  and 
low-spirited,  the  doctor  has  advised  a  tonic,  and  she 
misses  the  change  of  planting  her  back-yard  garden. 
Down  in  the  streets  the  tenement  children  are  swarm- 
ing in  the  sunny  spots,  and  dancing  to  the  hand- 
organs.  I  saw  them  early  last  week  when  I  was  in 
town  for  a  few  hours. 

In  one  of  the  downtown  parks  the  youngsters 
were  fairly  rolling  in  the  dirt,  and  rubbing  their  cheeks 
on  the  scanty  grass  as  they  furtively  scooped  up 
handfuls  of  cement-like  soil  to  make  mud  pies,  in 
spite  of  the  big  policeman,  who,  I  like  to  think,  was 
sympathetically  blind. 

The  same  impulse  stirs  my  boys,  even  though  they 
have  all  outdoors  around  them.  They  have  suddenly 
left  their  house  toys  and  outdoor  games  alike  to  fairly 
burrow  in  the  soil.  The  heap  of  beach  sand  and 
pebbles  that  was  carted  from  the  shore  and  left  under 
an  old  shed  for  their  amusement,  has  lost  its  charm. 
They  go  across  the  road  and  claw  the  fresh  earth  from 
an  exposed  bank,  using  fingers  instead  of  their  little 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     177 

rakes  and  spades,  and  decorate  the  moist  brown 
"pies"  they  make  with  dandelion  ornaments. 

A  few  days  ago  the  Vanderveer  boy  came  down  to 
play  with  them,  accompanied  by  an  English  head 
nurse  of  tyrannical  mien,  and  an  assortment  of  coats 
and  wraps.  The  poor  little  chap  had  been  ailing 
half  the  winter,  it  seems,  with  indigestion  and  various 
aches,  until  the  doctor  told  his  mother  that  she  must 
take  him  to  the  country  and  try  a  change,  as  he 
feared  the  trouble  was  chronic  appendicitis ;  so  the 
entire  establishment  has  arrived  to  stay  until  the 
Newport  season,  and  the  boy's  every  movement  is 
watched,  weighed,  and  discussed. 

The  nurse,  having  tucked  him  up  in  a  big  chair  in 
the  sun  on  the  porch,  with  the  boys  for  company,  and 
in  charge  of  father,  who  was  looking  at  him  with  a 
pitying  and  critical  medical  eye,  said  she  would  leave 
him  for  half  an  hour  while  she  went  up  the  lane  to 
see  Martha  Corkle.  A  few  moments  after,  as  I 
glanced  across  the  road,  I  saw  my  boys  burrowing 
away  at  their  dirt  bank,  and  their  guest  with  them. 
I  flew  downstairs  to  call  him  in,  fearing  for  the  con- 
sequences, but  father,  who  was  watching  the  proceed- 
ings from  the  porch,  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon 
me,  saying :  "  His  mother  has  consulted  me  about 
the  child,  and  really  sent  him  down  here  that  I 

N 


i;8    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

may  look  him  over,  and  I  am  doing  it,  in  my  own 
fashion.  I've  no  idea  the  trouble  is  appendicitis, 
though  it  might  be  driven  that  way.  I  read  it  as  a 
plain  case  of  suppressed  boyhood. 

"  He  doesn't  know  how  to  play,  or  run  naturally 
without  falling ;  he's  afraid  to  sit  down  in  the  dirt  — 
no  wonder  with  those  starched  linen  clothes ;  and  he 
keeps  looking  about  for  the  nurse,  first  over  one 
shoulder  and  then  over  the  other,  like  a  hunted  thing. 
Evidently  they  have  weighed  his  food,  measured  his 
exercise,  and  bought  his  amusements ;  his  only  free 
will  and  vent  is  to  get  in  a  temper.  They  give  him 
no  chance  to  sweat  off  his  irritation,  only  to  fume ; 
while  that  shaking,  snorting  teakettle  of  an  auto- 
mobile they  bowl  him  about  in,  puts  the  final  touch 
to  his  nervousness." 

Then  I  sat  down  by  father  and  watched  the  three 
boys  together,  while  Richard  was  preventing  his 
guest  from  pounding  a  toad  with  a  stone  because 
it  preferred  to  hop  away  instead  of  being  made 
into  a  dirt  pie,  and  I  saw  the  truth  of  what  he  said. 
The  seven-year-old  child  who  went  to  riding  school, 
dancing  school,  and  a  military  drill,  did  not  know 
how  to  express  his  emotions  in  play,  and  frozen 
snowballs  and  other  cruelty  was  his  distorted  idea 
of  amusement.  Poor  rich  boy,  sad  little  only  son, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     179 

he  was  not  allowed  the  freedom  to  respond  to  the 
voice  of  nature  even  as  the  tenement  children  that 
dance  in  the  streets  to  the  hand-organs  or  stir  the 
mud  in  the  gutter  with  their  bare  toes.  It  is  not 
the  tenement  children  of  New  York  who  are  to  be 
pitied ;  it  is  those  that  are  being  fitted  to  keep 
the  places,  in  the  unstable  and  frail  crafts  of  the 
Whirlpool,  that  their  parents  are  either  striving  to 
seize  or  struggling  to  reserve  for  them. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the  boys  came  back  to 
the  porch,  all  three  delightfully  and  completely  dirty, 
and  clamouring  that  they  were  hungry.  The  Eng- 
lish tyrant  not  appearing,  I  took  them  into  the  house 
and,  after  a  washing  of  hands  and  faces,  gave  the 
boys  the  usual  eleven  o'clock  lunch  of  milk  and 
simple  cookies  to  take  out  in  the  sun  to  eat.  As 
they  were  thus  engaged  the  tyrant  appeared  on 
the  horizon,  horror  written  in  every  feature,  and  a 
volley  of  correction  evidently  taking  shape  on  her 
lips,  while  an  ugly  look  of  cowed  defiance  spread 
itself  over  the  child's  face  as  he  caught  sight  of 
her. 

There  was  no  scene,  however.  Father  said  in 
the  most  offhand  way,  as  if  being  obeyed  was  a 
matter  of  course,  "  Go  back  and  tell  your  mistress 
that  I  am  carrying  out  her  request,  and  that  after 


1 8o     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

luncheon  I  will  send  the  boy  safely  home,  with  a 
written  message." 

"  But  his  medicines,  his  hour's  rest  alone  in  the 
dark,  his  special  food,  —  the  medical  man  in  New 
York  said  — "  protested  the  woman,  completely 
taken  aback. 

"  You  heard  my  message  ? "  said  father,  cheer- 
fully, and  that  was  all. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  advise  ? "  I  asked,  as 
in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  father  came  from 
his  office,  where  he  had  given  the  lad  a  thorough 
inspection. 

"  Simply  to  turn  him  loose  in  light  woollen  clothes, 
give  him  companions  of  his  age,  and  let  him  alone." 

"  Can't  you  word  it  differently  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  is  not  that  fairly  direct  ? "  he  replied, 
looking  surprised;  "and  surely  the  direct  method 
is  almost  always  the  best." 

"  I  think  this  is  the  one  case  where  it  is  not,  dear 
old  Daddy.  In  fact,  if  you  are  destined,  as  I  see 
that  you  are,  to  pick  up  and  tie  the  threads  of 
ravelled  health  in  the  Bluff  Colony,  you  will  have 
to  become  more  complicated,  at  least  in  speech, 
accustomed  as  they  are  to  a  series  of  specialists, 
and  having  importance  attached  to  the  very  key 
in  which  a  sneeze  is  pitched. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     181 

"Those  few  words  would  savour  to  the  Whirl- 
poolers  of  lack  of  proper  respect  and  consideration. 
You  must  give  a  name  to  both  ailment  and  cure  if 
you  expect  to  be  obeyed.  Call  the  case  a  '  serious 
one  of  physical  suppression,'  and  the  remedy  the 
1  fresh  earth  cure,'  to  be  taken  only  in  light  woollen 
clothes,  tell  them  to  report  progress  to  you  every 
other  day,  and  you  gain  the  boy  his  liberty." 

Father  laughed  heartily,  and  his  nose  twitched  in 
a  curious  way  it  has  when  he  is  secretly  amused  and 
convinced  against  his  will ;  but  I  think  he  took  my 
advice,  at  least  in  part,  for  the  next  morning  Papa 
Vanderveer  drove  down  in  the  brake,  announcing 
in  a  shout  that  "  De  Peyster  slept  all  night  without 
waking  up  and  crying,  for  the  first  time  in  months," 
adding,  "  And,  Dr.  Russell,  if  you've  got  anything 
further  in  this  liberty  line  to  suggest,  even  to  get- 
ting rid  of  the  Duchess,  now's  your  time.  '  The 
Duchess  ? '  Ah,  she  is  that  confounded  head  nurse 
woman  that  Maria  will  keep  so  that  things  may  be 
done  properly,  until  the  poor  kid's  nearly  been  done 
for,  I  say.  The  Ponsonbys  are  crazy  to  get  the 
woman  to  break  in  their  youngest  girl  and  keep  her 
down  and  from  growing  up  until  they  marry  the 
others  off ;  so  Maria  could  part  with  her  in  the  light 
of  a  favour  to  them,  don't  you  see,  without  spilling 


182     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

blood.  Peysey  '11  have  to  have  some  sort  of  a 
chaser,  though,  or  Maria  '11  not  hear  of  it." 

Mr.  Vanderveer  glowed  all  over  with  delight  when 
father  condemned  the  automobile  as  a  nerve  racker, 
and  suggested  that  a  young  man  of  the  companion- 
able tutor  order,  who  could  either  play  games,  fish, 
and  drive  with  the  boy  and  his  chums,  or  at  times 
leave  him  wholly  alone,  according  to  need,  would  be 
a  good  substitute  for  a  woman  who  viewed  life  as  a 
school  of  don'ts,  and  had  either  wholly  outlived  her 
youth,  or  else  had  most  unpleasant  recollections  of 
it. 

"I've  got  my  innings  at  last,"  he  said.  "You're 
the  first  .doctor  I've  had  who  hasn't  sided  with 
Maria  and  shut  me  out  until  pay  day." 

"  I  wonder  why  spring  is  such  a  restless  season," 
I  said  half  to  myself  and  half  to  father,  as  I  sat  on 
•the  porch  half  an  hour  later,  trying  to  focus  my 
mind  on  writing  to  Lavinia  Dorman,  while  father, 
lounging  on  the  steps  opposite,  was  busy  reading 
his  mail. 

"One  would  think  we  might  be  content  merely 
to  throw  off  winter  and  look  and  enjoy,  but  no, 
every  one  is  restless,  —  birds,  fourfoots,  and  humans. 
Lavinia  Dorman  writes  that  Sylvia  Latham  has  just 
started  for  California  to  see  her  brother,  and  she 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     183 

expects  to  bring  her  father  back  with  her.  The 
boys  disappeared  mysteriously  in  .the  direction  of 
Martha  Corkle's  immediately  after  breakfast,  Evan 
went  reluctantly  to  the  train,  declaring  that  it  seemed 
impossible  to  sit  still  long  enough  to  reach  the  city, 
you  are  twisting  about  and  shuffling  your  feet,  look- 
ing far  oftener  at  the  river  woods  than  at  your 
letters,  and  as  for  myself,  it  seems  as  if  I  must  go 
over  yonder  and  seize  Bertel's  spade  and  show  him 
how  to  dig  those  seed  beds  more  rapidly,  so  that 
I  can  begin  to  plant  and  kneel  down  and  get  close  to 
the  ground.  Yesterday  when  the  boys  came  in  with 
very  earthy  faces,  and  I  questioned  them,  I  found 
that  they  had  stuck  their  precious  noses  in  their  mud 
pies,  essaying  to  play  mole  and  burrow  literally." 

"  It  is  the  same  mystery  as  the  sweating  of  the 
corn,"  replied  father,  gathering  his  letters  in  a  heap 
and  tossing  them  into  a  chair  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience;  "none  of  us  may  escape,  even  though 
we  do  not  understand  it. 

"It  was  years  ago  that  I  first  heard  the  legend 
from  an  old  farmer  of  the  corn  belt,  who,  longing  for 
a  sight  of  salt  water,  had  drifted  eastward  into  one  of 
the  little  hill  farms  beyond  the  charcoal  camp.  He 
had  been  bedridden  nearly  all  winter,  but  uncom- 
plainingly, his  wife  and  daughter-in-law  caring  for 


184     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

him,  and  it  was  not  until  the  early  part  of  May,  when 
all  the  world  was  growing  green,  that  he  began  to 
mend  and  at  the  same  time  groan  at  his  confinement. 

"  I  tried  to  cheer  him  up,  telling  him  that  the  worst 
was  over,  and  that  he  soon  would  be  about  again,  and 
he  replied :  '  'Tain't  me  that's  doin'  of  it,  Doctor,  hit's 
the  sweatin'  of  the  corn.  You  know  everywhere  in 
May  folks  be  plantin'  corn,  the  time  bein'  the  sign 
that  frost  is  over  and  done  with.'  I  nodded  assent, 
and  he  continued  :  '  Now  naterally  there's  lots  of  corn 
in  ear  and  shelled  and  ground  to  meal  that  isn't 
planted,  and  along  as  when  the  kernels  in  the  ground 
begins  to  swell  and  sprout,  this  other  corn  knows  it 
and  begins  to  heave  and  sweat,  and  if  it  isn't  handled 
careful-like,  and  taken  in  the  air  and  cooled,  it'll  take 
on  all  sorts  of  moulds  and  musts,  and  like  as  not  turn 
useless.  I  holds  it's  just  the  same  with  folks,  —  when 
springtime  comes  they  fetch  up  restless  and  need  the 
air  and  turning  out  to  sweeten  in  the  sun  until  they 
settle  down  again,  else  their  naturs  turn  sour,  pisen'us, 
and  unwholesome,  breedin'  worms  like  sweated  corn ! ' 

"  Since  then  I've  heard  it  here  and  there  in  other 
words,  but  always  the  same  motive,  the  old  miller 
holding  it  all  fact  and  no  legend  at  all,  saying  that  if 
he  can  keep  his  surplus  corn  from  sweating  and  well 
aired  through  May  and  June,  he  never  fears  for  it  in 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     185 

the  damper,  more  potent  August  heat.  One  thing  is 
certain,  that  in  my  practice  in  countryside,  village, 
and  town,  if  strange  doings  break  out  and  restless 
discontentment  arises,  it  is  never  in  winter,  when  I 
should  expect  partial  torpidity  to  breed  unrest,  but 
in  the  pushing  season  of  renewal,  and,  as  the  old  man 
terms  it,  "  corn  sweating." 

******* 

A  little  later  I  was  going  toward  the  garden  when 
father  called  after  me  to  say  that  he  was  soon  starting 
for  a  long  trip,  quite  up  to  Pine  Ridge,  and  that  if  I 
cared  to  go,  taking  a  lunch  for  both,  it  might  give  me 
a  chance  to  "  turn  and  sweeten  "  in  the  sun  and  cure 
my  restlessness  with  natural  motion. 

Go  ?  Of  course  my  heart  leaped  at  the  very  thought, 
because,  in  spite  of  the  boys,  those  long  drives  with 
father  have  grown  more  precious  as  they  grow  more 
rare.  But  where  were  the  twins  ?  They  had  disap- 
peared under  my  very  eyes ;  of  a  surety  they  must  be 
at  Martha's,  but  my  conscience  smote  me  when,  on 
glancing  at  the  clock,  I  saw  that  it  was  two  hours 
since  they  left  the  breakfast  table  in  their  brand-new 
sailor  suits,  with  the  intention  of  showing  them  to 
her. 

No,  they  were  not  at  Martha's,  and  she  came  hur- 
rying back  with  me,  a  very  clucking  hen  of  alarm. 


i86    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Timothy  Saunders,  who  had  by  that  time  brought 
round  the  horses  in  the  stanhope,  ventured  the  opinion 
that  they  might  be  below,  paddling  in  the  duck  pond, 
as  all  the  village  children  gathered  there  at  the  first 
warm  weather,  "jest  fer  all  the  world  like  gnats  the 
sun's  drawd  oot." 

They  were  not  there !  Father  had  disappeared  to 
make  some  preparations  for  the  drive,  and  so  I  asked 
Timothy  to  drive  with  me  along  the  highway  toward 
the  village.  I  did  not  feel  exactly  worried,  but  then 
one  never  knows. 

We  had  gone  half  a  mile  perhaps,  vainly  question- 
ing every  one,  when  I  spied  two  small  figures  coming 
across  a  field  from  the  east,  where  the  ground  fell 
lower  and  lower  for  a  mile  or  so  until  it  reached  salt 
water. 

"  There  be  the  lads  !  "  shouted  Timothy  Saunders, 
as  if  I  had  been  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  deaf  at 
that ;  but  the  noise  meant  joy,  so  it  was  welcome. 
"  My,  but  they're  fagged  and  tattered  well  to  boot !  " 
And  so  they  were ;  but  they  struggled  along,  hand  in 
hand,  waving  cheerfully  when  they  caught  sight  of 
me,  and  finally  crept  through  the  pasture  bars  by 
which  I  was  waiting,  and  enveloped  me  with  faint, 
weary  hugs.  Then  I  noticed  that  they  wore  no 
hats,  their  fresh  suits  were  grimy  with  a  gray  dust 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     187 

like  cement,  the  knees  of  their  stockings  and  under- 
wear were  worn  completely  through  to  red,  scratched 
skin,  and  the  tips  entirely  scraped  from  their  shoes. 

I  gathered  them  into  the  gig,  and  sought  the  ex- 
planation as  we  drove  homeward,  Timothy  hurried 
by  the  vision  of  tearful  Martha,  whom  he  had  seen 
with  the  tail  of  his  eye  dodge  into  the  kitchen,  her 
apron  over  her  head,  as  he  turned  out  the  gate. 

"  We've  been  playing  we  was  moles,"  said  Ian,  in 
answer  to  the  first  question  as  to  where  they  had 
been.  "  Yesterday  we  tried  to  do  it  wif  our  own 
noses,  but  we  couldn't,  'cause  it  hurt,  and  we  wanted 
to  go  ever  so  far." 

"  So  we  went  down  to  where  those  big  round  stone 
pipes  are  in  the  long  hole,"  said  Richard,  picking  up 
the  story  as  Ian  paused.  (Workmen  had  been  laying 
large  cement  sewer  pipes  from  the  foot  of  the  Bluffs, 
a  third  of  a  mile  toward  the  marshes,  but  were  not 
working  that  day,  owing  to  lack  of  material.)  "  They 
made  nice  mole  holes,  so  I  crawled  right  in,  and  for 
a  little  it  was  bully  fun." 

"  Oh  Richard,  Richard,  what  made  you  ? "  I  cried, 
holding  him  so  tight  that  he  squirmed  away.  "  Suppose 
the  other  end  had  been  closed,  and  you  had  smothered 
in  there,  and  mother  had  never  found  you  ? "  for  the 
ghastly  possibility  made  my  knees  quake. 


i88     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  Oh  no,  mother,"  he  pleaded,  taking  my  face 
between  his  grimy  hands  and  looking  straight  in  my 
eyes,  "  it  wasn't  a  dark  hole.  I  could  see  it  light  out 
'way  at  the  other  end,  and  it  didn't  look  so  vely  far  as 
it  was  to  crawl  it.  And  after  a  little  I'd  have  liked 
to  back  out,  only  —  only,  well,  you  see,  I  couldn't." 

"  Why  not  ? "  I  asked,  and,  as  he  did  not  answer,  I 
again  saw  a  vision  of  two  little  forms  wedged  in  the 
pipes. 

"That  why  was  'cause  7  was  in  behind,  and  I 
wouldn't  back,  and  so  Dick  couldn't,"  said  Ian. 
"  You  see,  Barbara,  I  really,  truly  had  to  be  a  mole 
and  get  very  far  away,  not  to  stay,  only  just  for  fun, 
you  know,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  signs  of  tears  in  his 
brother's  eyes,  and  began  to  feel  the  smarting  in  his 
own  bruised  knees. 

One  blessed  thing  about  Ian,  even  though  he  is 
sometimes  passionate  and  stubborn,  and  will  probably 
have  lots  of  trouble  with  himself  by  and  by,  there 
isn't  a  drop  of  sneaky  cur  blood  in  him,  which  is  the 
only  trait  that  need  make  a  mother  tremble. 

What  should  I  do,  punish,  or  act  as  I  longed  to, 
coddle  the  boys  and  comfort  the  poor  knees  ?  True, 
I  had  not  forbidden  them  to  crawl  through  the 
sewer  pipes,  because  the  idea  of  their  doing  it  had 
never  occurred  to  me,  so  they  could  not  be  said  to 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     189 

have  exactly  disobeyed ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  there 
was  an  unwritten  law  that  they  must  not  go  off  the 
place  without  my  permission,  and  the  torn  stockings 
furnished  a  hint. 

"  Mother  is  going  away  for  all  day  with  grand- 
father," I  said  slowly,  as  I  examined  their  knees. 
"  Even  though  I  never  told  you  not  to  do  it,  if  you 
had  stopped  to  think,  you  would  have  known  it  was 
wrong  to  crawl  through  the  pipes." 

"  But,  Barbara,"  argued  Ian,  as  we  reached  the 
porch,  "  it  wasn't  us  that  crawled,  it  was  moles,  and 
they  just  digs  right  ahead  and  turns  up  the  ground 
and  flowers  and  everything,  and  never  thinks  things, 
do  they,  grandpop  ?  " 

"  Martha  will  take  you  in,"  I  said,  steadying  my 
voice  with  difficulty,  "  and  bathe  your  knees  and  let 
you  rest  a  while  before  she  dresses  you  again. 
Martha,  please  put  away  those  stockings  for  me  to 
mend  when  I  return ;  I  cannot  ask  Effie  to  darn  such 
holes  for  two  little  moles ;  she  is  only  engaged  to  sew 
for  boys." 

"  But,  mother,  you  don't  like  to  sew  stockings ;  it 
makes  you  tight  in  your  chest.  I  heard  you  tell 
father  so,"  objected  Richard,  while  lan's  face  quiv- 
ered and  reddened,  and  he  pounded  his  fists  together, 
saying  to  himself,  "  Barbara  shall  not  sit  in  the  house 


190    THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

and  mend  moles'  stockings.  I  won't  let  her,"  show- 
ing that  they  were  both  touched  in  a  tender  spot. 

Father  only  laughed  when  they  went  in,  and  said  : 
"  I'm  glad  you  didn't  do  anything  more  than  that  to 
the  little  chaps,  daughter ;  it's  only  a  bit  of  boy  life 
and  impulse  working  in  them,  after  all ;  their  natural 
way  of  cooling  the  '  sweating  of  the  corn.' '  Then 
we  drove  away  through  the  lanes  draped  with  birch 
tassels  and  willow  wands,  while  bloodroot  and  marsh- 
marigold  kept  pace  in  the  runnels,  and  I  heard  the 
twitter  of  the  first  barn-swallow  of  the  year. 

As  we  drove  along  we  talked  or  were  silent  with- 
out apology  and  according  to  mood ;  and  as  father 
outlined  his  route  to  me,  I  resolved  that  I  would  call 
upon  Horace  Bradford's  mother,  for  our  way  lay  in 
that  direction. 

Many  things  filled  father's  mind  aside  from  the 
beauty  of  the  perfect  April  day,  that  held  even  the 
proper  suggestion  of  hidden  showers  behind  the  cur- 
tain of  hazy  sunshine.  The  sweating  of  the  human 
corn  that  came  under  father's  eye  was  not  always  to 
be  cured  by  air  and  sun,  or  rather,  those  who  turned 
uneasily  would  not  accept  the  cure. 

The  germ  of  unrest  is  busy  in  the  village  this 
spring.  Not  that  it  is  wholly  new,  for  unrest  is 
wherever  people  congregate.  But  this  year  the  key 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL     191 

is  altered  somewhat.  The  sight  of  careless  ease, 
life  without  labour,  and  a  constant  change  of  pleas- 
ures, that  obtain  in  the  Bluff  Colony,  is  working 
harm.  True,  the  people  can  always  read  of  this  life 
in  book  and  paper,  but  to  come  in  direct  contact  is 
another  thing.  Father  said  the  other  day  that  he 
wished  that  conservative  country  places  that  had 
lived  respected  and  respectable  lives  for  years  could 
have  the  power  to  socially  quarantine  all  newcomers 
before  they  were  allowed  to  purchase  land  and  set  a 
pace  that  lured  the  young  cityward  at  any  cost.  I, 
too,  realize  that  the  striving  in  certain  quarters  is  no 
longer  for  home  and  love  and  happy  times,  but  for 
something  new,  even  if  it  is  merely  for  the  sake  of 
change,  and  that  this  infection  of  social  unrest  is 
quickly  spreading  downward  from  the  Bluffs,  touch- 
ing the  surface  of  our  little  community,  if  not  yet 
troubling  its  depths. 

The  leading  merchant's  daughter,  Cora  Blackburn, 
fresh  from  a  college  course  that  was  a  strain  upon 
the  family  means,  finds  that  she  has  built  a  wall  four 
years  wide  between  herself  and  her  family;  hence- 
forth life  here  is  a  vacuum, — she  is  misunderstood, 
and  is  advertising  for  an  opportunity  to  go  to  New 
York  and  the  independence  of  a  dreary  back  third  or 
fourth  story  hall  bedroom.  But,  as  she  said  the  other 


192     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

day,  putting  on  what  Evan  calls  her  "  capability-for- 
better-things  "  air,  "  One's  scope  is  so  limited  here, 
and  one  never  can  tell  whom  one  may  meet  in  New 
York,"  which  is,  of  course,  perfectly  true. 

It  was  only  last  night  that  father  returned  from 
the  hospital,  distressed  and  perplexed,  and  called  me 
into  the  office.  A  young  woman  of  twenty-two,  that 
I  know  very  well,  of  a  plain  middle-class  family  over 
in  town,  had,  it  seems,  sent  her  name  for  admission 
to  the  training-school  for  nurses.  Father,  in  his 
friendly  way,  stopped  at  the  house  on  his  way  home 
to  talk  with  her  about  the  matter,  and  found  from  a 
little  sister,  who  was  washing  dishes,  that  the  mother 
of  the  family  was  ill  and  being  cared  for  by  a  neigh- 
bour. Presently,  down  tripped  the  candidate  for 
nursing,  well  dressed,  well  shod,  and  with  pink,  pol- 
ished finger  nails. 

Father,  wondering  why  she  did  not  care  for  her 
mother,  asked  his  usual  questions :  "  What  leads  you  to 
wish  to  take  up  nursing  ?  Are  you  interested  in  medi- 
cine, and  fond  of  caring  for  the  sick  ?  For  you  should 
be,  to  enter  such  an  exacting  life."  She  seemed  to 
misunderstand  him  altogether  and  take  his  inquiry  for 
prying.  She  coloured,  bit  her  lip,  then  lost  her  head 
and  blurted  out :  "  Interested  in  the  sick  !  Of  course 
not.  Who  could  be,  for  they  are  always  so  aggravat 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     193 

ing.  I  don't  mean  to  stay  so  very  long  at  it,  but  it's 
a  good  chance  to  go  into  some  swell  family,  and 
maybe  marry  and  get  into  society." 

Poor  father  was  fairly  in  a  rage  at  the  girl's  idea  of 
what  he  deems  a  sacred  calling,  and  it  was  not  until 
Richard  had  kissed  him  from  the  end  of  his  nose  up 
over  his  short  thick  gray  hair,  and  down  again  to  the 
tickle  place  in  his  neck,  that  he  calmed  down.  Un- 
less my  instinct  fails  me,  he  will  have  his  social 
experience  considerably  widened  during  the  coming 
season,  even  if  his  trustful  nature  is  not  strengthened. 

Father  had  made  three  calls,  and  we  had  eaten  our 
luncheon  by  the  wayside,  unhooking  the  horses,  and 
baiting  them  by  a  low  bridge  rail  that  sloped  into  the 
bushes,  where  they  could  eat  and  drink  at  leisure, 
before  we  reached  Pine  Ridge.  Once  there,  he 
dropped  me  at  the  Bradford  farm,  while  he  drove 
westward,  along  the  Ridge,  to  a  consultation  with 
the  local  doctor  over  a  complicated  broken  leg  that 
would  not  knit. 

As  I  closed  the  neat  white  picket  gate  behind  me, 
and  walked  slowly  toward  the  porch,  a  blaze  of 
yellow  on  the  south  side  of  the  red  brick  house  drew 
my  attention.  It  was  the  Forsythia,  the  great  bush 
of  "yellow  bells,"  of  which  Horace  Bradford  had 
spoken  as  blooming  in  advance  of  any  in  the  neigh- 


194     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

bourhood,  and  for  a  moment  I  felt  as  if  I  were  walk- 
ing into  the  pages  of  a  story-book. 

I  wielded  the  heavy  brass  knocker  on  the  half-door, 
with  diamond-paned  glass  top,  and  paused  to  look  off 
to  where  the  flower  and  fruit  garden  sloped  south 
and  west.  Presently,  as  no  one  answered  the  knock, 
I  peered  through  the  glass,  into  an  open  square,  that 
was  evidently  both  hall  and  sitting  room.  In  one 
corner  was  a  chimney  place,  in  which  a  log  burned 
lazily,  opposite  a  broad,  low  window,  its  shelves  filled 
with  flower  pots,  near  which,  in  a  harp-backed  chair, 
an  old  lady  sat  sewing.  She  wore  a  simple  black 
gown,  with  a  small  shawl  thrown  across  her  shoul- 
ders, and  her  hair,  clear  steel  colour  and  white,  was 
held  in  a  loose  knot  by  an  old-fashioned  shell  comb. 
In  spite  of  the  droop  and  lines  of  age  (for  Horace 
Bradford's  mother  must  have  been  quite  seventy), 
the  nose  had  a  fine,  strong  Roman  curve,  and  the 
brow  a  thoughtful  width. 

What  was  she  thinking  of  as  she  sat  there  alone, 
this  bright  April  afternoon,  shaping  a  garment,  with 
a  smile  hovering  about  her  lips  ?  Her  son's  promo- 
tion and  bright  prospects,  perhaps. 

I  looked  across  at  the  old  mahogany  chest  of 
drawers  behind  her,  to  see  if  I  could  recognize 
any  of  the  framed  photographs  that  stood  there. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     195 

One,  evidently  copied  from  a  daguerrotype,  was  of 
a  curly-haired  girl,  about  fourteen,  probably  the 
daughter  who  died  years  ago,  and  another,  close  at 
her  elbow,  was  of  a  lanky  boy  of  eight  or  ten,  wear- 
ing a  broad  straw  hat,  and  grasping  a  fishing  pole, 
probably  Horace,  as  a  child,  but  there  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen  the  photograph  of  him  in  cap,  gown, 
and  hood  that  stood  on  Miss  Lavinia's  chimney 
shelf. 

Then  as  Mrs.  Bradford  folded  her  hands  over  her 
work,  and  gazed  through  the  plants  and  window,  at 
some  far-away  thought,  I  felt  like  a  detective,  spying 
upon  her,  and  hastily  knocked  again. 

This  time  she  heard  at  once,  and  coming  quickly 
to  the  door,  admitted  me,  with  a  cordial  smile  and  a 
hearty  grasp  of  the  hand  that  reminded  me  of 
her  son,  and  was  totally  unlike  the  clammy  and 
noncommittal  touch  of  so  many  of  the  country 
folk,  bred  evidently  of  their  general  habit  of 
caution. 

"You  are  Mrs.  Evan,  the  Doctor's  daughter.  I 
know  your  father  well,  though  I  have  never  met  you 
face  to  face  since  you  were  a  little  girl." 

Then  the  conversation  drifted  easily  along  to  Miss 
Lavinia,  and  my  meeting  with  Horace,  his  professor- 
ship, the  prospect  of  his  being  at  home  all  summer, 


196    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

and  to  the  different  changes  in  the  community, 
especially  that  wrought  by  the  colony  at  the  Bluffs, 
which  were  really  the  halfway  mark  between  Oak- 
lands  and  Pine  Ridge. 

Mrs.  Bradford  saw  the  purely  commercial  and 
cheerful  side  of  the  matter ;  as  yet,  few  of  the  new 
places  were  well  equipped  with  gardens,  —  it  had 
opened  a  good  market  for  the  farmers  on  the  Ridge, 
and  they  were  no  longer  obliged  to  take  their  eggs, 
fruit,  poultry,  and  butter  into  town. 

In  spite  of  a  certain  reticence,  she  was  eager  to 
know  the  names  of  all  the  newcomers ;  but  when  I 
mentioned  Mrs.  Latham,  saying  that  she  was  the 
mother  of  Sylvia,  one  of  her  son's  pupils,  and 
described  the  beauty  of  their  place,  I  thought  that 
she  gave  a  little  start,  and  that  I  heard  her  speak  the 
initials  S.  L.  under  her  breath ;  but  when  I  looked 
up,  I  could  detect  nothing  but  a  slight  quiver  of  the 
eyelids. 

Then  we  went  out  into  the  garden,  arm  in  arm, 
for  Mrs.  Bradford's  footing  seemed  insecure  upon 
the  cobbled  walk,  and  she  turned  to  me  at  once 
as  naturally  as  if  I  were  a  neighbour's  daughter. 
Together  we  grew  enthusiastic  over  the  tufts  of 
white  violets,  early  hyacinths,  and  narcissi,  or  equally 
so  over  the  mere  buds  of  things.  For  it  is  the  rotarj 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     197 

promise  that  is  the  inspiration  of  a  garden ;  it  is  this 
that  lures  us  on  from  year  to  year,  and  softens  the 
sharp  punctuation  of  birthdays. 

Was  there  anything  in  her  garden  that  I  had  not  ? 
She  would  be  so  pleased  to  exchange  plants  with  me 
and  had  I  any  of  the  new  cactus  Dahlias,  and  so  on, 
until  we  reached  the  walk's  end,  and  turned  about 
under  a  veteran  cherry  tree  that  showered  us  with  its 
almond-scented  petals. 

Then  Mrs.  Bradford  relaxed  completely,  and  pull- 
ing down  a  branch,  buried  her  face  in  the  blossoms, 
drawing  long  breaths. 

"  I've  kept  away  from  the  garden  all  day,"  she 
said,  "because  I  had  some  sewing  to  finish,  so  those 
unfortunate  Hornblower  children  might  begin  the 
spring  term  at  school  to-morrow ;  and  when  I  once 
smell  the  cherry  flowers,  my  very  bones  ache  to  be 
out  doors,  and  I'm  not  good  for  a  thing  but  to  potter 
about  the  garden  from  now  on,  until  the  strawberries 
show  red,  and  everything  settles  down  for  summer. 
It 's  always  been  the  same,  since  I  was  a  little  girl, 
and  used  to  watch  the  cherry  blooms  up  through  the 
top  sash  of  the  schoolhouse  windows,  when  they 
had  screened  the  lower  part  to  keep  us  from  idling, 
and  it 's  lasted  all  through  my  married  life.  The 
Squire  and  I  always  went  on  a  May  picnic  by  our- 


198     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

selves,  until  the  year  he  died,  though  the  neighbours 
all  reckoned  us  feeble-minded." 

The  "  Sweating  of  the  Corn,"  I  almost  said  aloud. 

"  I've  reasoned  with  myself  every  spring  all 
through  the  between  years,  until  now  I've  made 
up  my  mind  it's  something  that's  meant  to  be,  and 
I'm  going  to  give  in  to  it.  Sit  down  here  under 
the  trees,  my  dear,  and  Esther  Nichols  will  bring 
us  some  tea  and  fresh  cider  cake.  Yes,  I  see  that 
you  look  surprised  to  have  afternoon  tea  offered 
on  Pine  Ridge,  but  I  got  the  habit  from  the  Eng- 
lish grandmother  that  reared  me,  and  I've  always 
counted  it  a  better  hospitality  than  the  customary 
home-made  cordials  and  syrups  that,  between  our- 
selves, make  one  stomach-sick.  Yes,  there  comes 
Esther  now ;  she  always  knows  my  wants.  She  and 
her  husband  are  distant  cousins  of  the  Bradfords, 
and  my  helpers  indoors  and  out,  for  I  am  too  old 
to  manage  farm  hands,  especially  now  that  they  are 
mostly  Slavs,  and  it  makes  Horace  feel  happier  to 
have  kinsfolk  here  than  if  I  trusted  to  transient 
service." 

So  we  sipped  the  well-made  breakfast  tea  beneath 
the  cherry  blossoms  as  I  told  her  about  my  boys 
and  Miss  Lavinia's  expected  visit.  When  father 
called  for  me  I  left  reluctantly,  feeling  as  if  nobody 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     199 

need  be  without  a  family,  when  one  becomes  neces- 
sary, for  in  addition  to  an  aunt  in  Lavinia  Dorman 
I  had  found  a  sort  of  spirit  grandmother  there  in 
the  remote  and  peaceful  highlands,  —  a  woman  at 
once  simple  and  restful,  yet  withal  having  no 
narrowness  or  crudity  to  cramp  or  jar. 

It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  when  we  turned  into 
the  highway  west  of  the  Bluffs.  We  had  gone  but 
a  few  rods  when  a  great  clanking  of  chains  and 
jar  of  wheels  sounded  behind.  As  I  stretched  out 
to  see  what  was  coming,  a  horn  sounded  merrily. 

"  A  coaching  party,"  said  father.  "  I  will  turn  out 
of  the  road,  for  there  is  a  treacherous  pitch  on  the 
other  side,  and  for  me  to  let  them  topple  into  the 
ditch  might  be  profitable,  but  hardly  professional." 

We  had  barely  turned  into  low  bushes  when  the 
stage  came  alongside.  The  horses  dropped  back  to 
a  walk,  as  they  passed,  for  it  was  a  decided  up  grade 
for  thirty  yards,  so  that  we  had  a  good  chance  to 
view  both  equipage  and  occupants.  To  my  surprise 
I  saw  that  the  coach  was  the  Jenks-Smith's.  I  did 
not  know  they  had  returned  from  the  trip  abroad 
where  they  had  been  making  their  annual  visit 
to  repair  the  finances  of  their  son-in-law. 

Monty  Bell  was  driving,  with  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith 
at  his  side.  The  robust  Lady  of  the  Bluffs,  evidently 


200    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

having  some  difficulty  in  keeping  her  balance,  was 
clutching  the  side  bar  desperately.  She  was  dressed 
in  bright-figured  hues  from  top  to  toe,  her  filmy  hat 
had  lurched  over  one  eye,  and  all  together  she  looked 
like  a  Chinese  lantern,  or  a  balloon  inflated  for  its 
rise  but  entangled  in  its  moorings. 

Jenks-Smith  sat  behind,  with  Mrs.  Latham  and 
a  very  pretty  young  girl  as  seatmates,  while  behind 
them  came  a  giggling  bevy  of  young  people  and  the 
grooms,  —  Sylvia  being  of  course  absent. 

Mrs.  Latham  was  clad  in  pale  violet  embroidered 
with  iris  in  deeper  tones,  her  wide  hat  was  irre- 
proachably poised,  her  veil  draped  gracefully,  her 
white  parasol,  also  embroidered  with  iris,  held  at 
as  becoming  an  angle,  and  her  corsage  violets  as 
fresh  as  if  she  was  but  starting  out,  while  in  fact 
the  party  must  have  driven  up  from  New  York 
since  morning. 

They  did  not  even  glance  at  the  gray  horses  which 
had  been  drawn  aside  to  give  them  right  of  way, 
much  less  acknowledge  the  courtesy,  but  clanked 
by  in  a  cloud  of  misty  April  dust. 

"  What  a  contrast  between  his  mother  and  hers," 
I  said  unconsciously,  half  aloud. 

"  Which  ?  Whose  ?  I  did  not  quite  catch  the 
connection  of  that  remark,"  said  father,  turning 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     201 

toward  me  with  his  quizzical  expression,  for  a  stand- 
ing joke  of  both  father  and  Evan  was  to  thus  trip  me 
up  when  I  uttered  fragmentary  sentences,  as  was 
frequently  the  case,  taking  it  for  granted,  they  said, 
that  they  either  dreamed  the  connection  or  could 
read  my  thoughts. 

"  I  meant  what  a  great  contrast  there  is  between 
Mrs.  Bradford  and  Mrs.  Latham,"  I  explained,  at 
once  realizing  that  there  was  really  no  sense  in  the 
comparison  outside  of  my  own  irrepressibly  romantic 
imagination,  even  before  father  said  :  — 

"  And  why,  pray,  should  they  not  be  different  ? 
Under  the  circumstances  it  would  be  very  strange  if 
they  were  not.  And  where  does  the  his  and  her 
come  in  ?  Barbara,  child,  I  think  you  are  '  dreaming 
pussy  willows,"  as  you  used  to  say  you  did  in  spring- 
time, when  you  were  a  very  little  girl." 

******* 

The  boys  were  having  their  supper  in  the  hall 
when  I  arrived  home,  for,  warm  as  the  days  are,  it 
grows  cool  toward  night  until  we  are  past  middle 
May. 

The  scraped  knees  were  still  knobby  with  bandages, 
but  the  lads  were  in  good  spirits,  and  seemed  to  have 
some  secret  with  Martha  that  involved  a  deal  of 
whispering  and  some  chuckling.  After  the  traces  of 


202     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

bread  and  butter  were  all  wiped  away,  they  came 
hobbling  up  (for  the  poor  knees  were  sadly  stiff  and 
lame),  and  wedged  themselves,  one  on  each  side  of 
me,  in  the  window  seat  of  the  den,  where  I  was 
watching  for  the  smoke  of  Evan's  train,  my  signal 
for  going  down  the  road.  Ah,  how  I  always  miss 
the  sight  of  the  curling  smoke  and  the  little  confi- 
dential walk  in  the  dark  winter  days  ! 

There  was  some  mystery  afoot,  I  could  see,  for 
Martha  hovered  about  the  fireplace,  asking  if  a  few 
sticks  wouldn't  temper  the  night  air,  to  which  I 
readily  assented,  yet  still  she  did  not  go,  and  the  boys 
kept  the  hands  close  against  their  blouse  fronts. 

Suddenly  Ian  threw  his  arms  about  my  neck  and 
bent  my  head  close  to  his,  saying,  in  his  abrupt  voice 
of  command,  "  Barbara  must  not  stay  indoors  to- 
morrow and  be  sad  and  mend  the  moles'  stockings." 

"  Yes,  Barbara  must,"  I  answered  firmly,  feeling, 
yet  much  dreading,  the  necessity  of  the  coming 
collision. 

"  No,  she  can't,"  said  Ian,  trying  to  look  stern, 
but  breaking  into  little  twinkling  smiles  at  the  mouth 
corners.  "  She  can't,  because  the  moles'  stockings 
haven't  any  more  got  holes ! "  and  he  pulled  some- 
thing from  his  blouse  and  spread  it  in  my  lap, 
Richard  doing  likewise. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     203 

There  were  two  stockings  mended,  fearfully  and 
wonderfully,  to  be  sure,  and  quite  unwearable,  but 
still  legally  mended. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  I  said,  while  the  boys,  seeing 
my  puzzled  expression,  clapped  their  hands  and 
hopped  painfully  about  as  well  as  they  were  able. 

Then  Martha  Corkle  emerged  from  the  background 
and  explained :  "  The  boys  they  felt  most  terrible  in 
their  minds,  Mrs.  Evan,  soon  after  you'd  went  (their 
sore  knees,  I  think,  also  keepin'  them  in  sight  of 
their  doings),  and  they  begged  me,  Mrs.  Evan, 
wouldn't  I  mend  the  stockings,  which  I  would  most 
cheerfully,  only  takin'  the  same  as  not  to  be  your 
idea,  mum.  So  I  says,  says  I,  somebody  havin'  to 
be  punished,  your  ma's  goin'  to  do  it  to  take  the  pun- 
ishment herself,  that  is,  in  lest  you  do  it  your  own 
selves  instead.  So,  says  I,  I'll  mend  one  stocking  of 
each  if  you  do  the  other,  Mrs.  Evan,  and  no  dis- 
respect intended. 

"  I  borried  Effie's  embroidery  rings  and  set  the  two 
holes  for  them  and  run  them  in  one  way,  leavin'  them 
the  fillin'  to  do,  which  they  have,  sittin'  the  whole 
afternoon  at  it  most  perseverin'." 

"  Richard  did  his  one  stitch,  but  I  did  mine  four 
stitch ;  it  ate  up  the  hole  quicker,  and  it's  more 
different,"  quoth  Ian,  waving  his  stocking,  into  the 


204    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

knee  of  which  he  had  managed  to  introduce  a  sort 
of  kindergarten  weaving  pattern. 

"  But  mine  looks  more  like  Martha's,  doesn't  it, 
mother  ? "  pleaded  patient  Richard,  who,  though  the 
threads  were  drawn  and  gathered,  had  kept  to  the 
regular  one  up  and  one  down  throughout. 

Then  the  signal  of  the  smoke  arose  against  the 
opal  of  the  twilight  sky,  and  we  went  out  hand  in 
hand,  all  three  happy,  to  meet  our  breadwinner. 

Late  that  night,  when  all  the  household  slept,   I 
added  a  little  package  to  my  treasures  in  the  attic 
desk, — two  long  stockings  with  queer  darned  knees,  — 
and  upon  the  paper  band  that  bound  them  is  written 
a  date  and  "  The  Sweating  of  the  Corn." 


IX 

A   WAYSIDE   COMEDY 

May  t)th.  Madame  Etiquette  has  entered  this 
peaceful  village.  Not,  however,  as  the  court  lady 
of  the  old  French  regime,  but  travelling  in  the  wake 
of  the  Whirlpoolers  under  dubious  aliases,  being 
sometimes  called  Good  Form  and  at  other  The 
Correct  Thing.  At  present  she  is  having  a  hand-to- 
hand  encounter  with  New  England  Prejudice,  a  once 
stalwart  old  lady  of  firm  will,  but  now  considerably 
weakened  by  age  and  the  incessant  arguing  of  her 
great-grandchildren. 

The  result  of  the  conflict  is  quite  uncertain,  for 
actually  even  the  Sunday  question  hangs  in  the  bal- 
ance ;  while  the  spectacle  is  most  amusing  to  the 
outsider  and  embarrassing  to  the  referees. 

Father,  seeing  through  medical  eyes,  regards  the 
matter  merely  in  the  light  of  a  mild  epidemic. 
Evan  is  rather  sarcastic ;  he  much  preferred  garden 
quiet  and  smoking  his  evening  pipe  to  the  tune  of 
soothing  conversation  concerning  the  rural  days' 

205 


206     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

doings,  to  the  reflex  anxiety  of  settling  social  prob- 
lems. In  these,  lo  and  behold,  I  find  myself  unwill- 
ingly involved,  for  one  New  England  habit  has  not 
been  abandoned  —  that  of  consulting  the  wife  of 
minister  and  doctor,  even  if  holes  are  afterward 
picked  in  the  result,  and  in  this  case  a  daughter 
stands  in  the  wife's  place. 

The  beginning  was  two  years  back,  when  the 
Bluff  colony  began  to  be  an  object  of  speculation, 
followed  in  turn  by  censure,  envy,  and  finally  aspira- 
tion that  has  developed  this  spring  into  an  outbreak 
of  emulation. 

Ever  since  I  can  remember,  social  life  has  moved 
along  quite  smoothly  hereabout,  the  doings  being 
regulated  by  the  age  and  purses  of  the  participants. 
The  householders  who  went  to  the  city  for  a  few 
winter  months  were  a  little  more  precise  in  their 
entertaining  than  the  born  and  bred  country  folk. 
As  they  commonly  dined  at  night,  they  asked  people 
to  dinner  rather  than  to  supper,  which  is  the  country 
meal  of  state.  But  lawn  parties,  picnics,  and  clam- 
bakes at  the  shore  were  pretty  much  on  the  same 
scale,  those  who  could  afford  it  having  music  and 
employing  a  caterer,  while  those  who  could  not 
made  no  secret  of  the  cause,  and  felt  neither  jealous 
nor  humiliated.  A  wagon  load  of  neighbourly 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL    207 

young  people  might  go  on  a  day's  excursion  uncriti- 
cised,  without  thought  of  dragging  a  mother  or  aunt 
in  their  wake  as  chaperon.  In  fact,  though  no  one 
is  more  particular  than  father  in  matters  of  real 
propriety,  I  cannot  remember  being  formally  chaper- 
oned in  my  life  or  of  suffering  a  shadow  of  annoy- 
ance for  the  lack. 

Weddings  were  always  home  affairs  among  the 
strictly  country  folk,  by  common  consent  and  custom, 
no  matter  to  what  denomination  the  people  belonged. 
Those  with  contracted  houses  went  quietly  to  par- 
sonage or  rectory  with  a  few  near  friends ;  others 
were  married  at  the  bride's  home,  the  ceremony 
followed  by  more  or  less  merrymaking.  A  church 
wedding  was  regarded  as  so  great  a  strain  upon 
the  families  that  the  young  people  had  no  right 
to  ask  it,  even  if  they  so  desired. 

That  has  passed,  at  least  for  the  time  being,  and 
all  eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  movements  of  the  Bluff 
people,  and  many  feet  are  stumbling  along  in  their 
supposed  footsteps.  It  would  be  really  funny  if 
it  were  not  half  pitiful.  The  dear  simple  folk  are  so 
terribly  in  earnest  that  they  do  not  see  that  they 
are  losing  their  own  individuality  and  gaining  noth- 
ing to  replace  it. 

The    Whirlpoolers,     though    only    here    for    the 


208     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

between  seasons,  are  constantly  entertaining  among 
themselves,  and  hardly  a  day  passes  but  a  coach- 
ing party  drives  up  from  town  with  week-end 
golfers  for  whom  a  dance  is  given,  or  stops  en 
route  to  the  Berkshires  or  some  farther  point.  A 
few  outsiders  are  sometimes  asked  to  the  more  general 
of  these  festivities,  friends  of  city  friends  who  have 
places  hereabout,  the  clergy  and  their  wives,  and, 
alas,  the  Doctor's  daughter;  but  society  colonies  do 
not  intend  associating  with  the  natives  except  purely 
for  their  own  convenience,  and  when  they  do,  pay  no 
heed  to  the  code  they  enforce  among  themselves. 

It  is  not  harsh  judgment  in  me,  I  feel  sure,  when 
I  say  that  Evan  would  not  be  asked  so  often  to  the 
Bluffs  to  dinner  if  he  were  not  a  well-known  land- 
scape architect  whose  advice  has  a  commercial 
value.  They  always  manage  to  obtain  enough  of 
it  in  the  guise  of  after-dinner  conversation  and  the 
discussion  of  garden  plans  to  make  him  more  than 
earn  his  fare.  For  the  Whirlpoolers  are  very 
thrifty,  the  richer  the  more  so,  especially  those  of 
Dutch  trading  blood,  and  they  are  not  above  stopping 
father  on  the  road,  engaging  in  easy  converse, 
praising  the  boys,  and  then  asking  his  opinion  about 
a  supposititious  case,  rather  than  send  for  him  in 
the  regular  way  and  pay  his  modest  fee. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     209 

In  fact,  Mrs.  Ponsonby  asked  me  to  a  luncheon 
j'ast  autumn,  and  it  quickly  transpired  afterward,  that 
she  had  an  open  trap  for  sale  suitable  for  one  horse ; 
she  knew  that  Evan  was  looking  for  such  a  vehicle 
for  me,  and  suggested  that  I  might  like  this  one. 

A  bulky  and  curious  correspondence  grew  up 
around  the  transaction,  and  the  letters  are  now 
lying  in  my  desk  marked  "  Mrs.  Ponsonby,  and  the 
road  cart."  Finally  I  took  the  vehicle  out  on  a 
trial  trip.  I  noticed  that  it  had  a  peculiar  gait,  and 
stopping  at  the  blacksmith's,  called  him  to  examine 
the  running  gear.  He  gave  one  look  and  burst  into 
a  guffaw :  "  Land  alive,  Mrs.  Evan,  that's  Missis 
Ponsonby's  cart,  that  stood  so  long  in  the  city  stable, 
with  the  wheels  on,  that  they're  off  the  circle  and 
no  good.  I  told  her  she'd  have  to  get  new  ones ; 
but  her  coachman  allowed  she'd  sell  it  to  some 
Jay.  You  ain't  bought  it,  hev  yer  ?  " 

Good-natured  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith,  the  pioneer  of  the 
Bluffs,  was  the  first  one  to  throw  open  her  grounds, 
when  completed,  for  an  afternoon  and  evening  recep- 
tion, with  all  the  accompaniments  of  music,  electric 
lit  fountains,  and  unlimited  refreshments.  Every- 
body went,  and  satisfaction  reigned  for  the  time ; 
but  when  another  season  it  was  found  that  she  had 
no  intention  of  returning  calls,  great  disappointment 


was  felt.  Others  in  turn  exhibited  their  grounds 
for  the  benefit  of  the  different  churches,  while  the 
Ponsonbys  gave  a  lawn  party  for  the  orphan  asylum, 
and  considering  that  they  had  done  their  duty, 
straightway  forgot  the  village. 

The  village  did  not  forget;  it  had  observed  and 
has  begun  to  put  in  practice.  The  first  symptom  was 
noticed  by  Evan.  Last  summer  several  family  horses 
of  respectable  mien  and  Roman  noses  appeared  with 
their  tails  banged.  Not  docked,  mind  you,  but  squared 
off  as  closely  as  might  be  without  resorting  to  cruelty ; 
while  their  venerable  heads,  accustomed  to  turn  freely 
and  look  their  drivers  in  the  face  reproachfully  if  kept 
standing  too  long,  were  held  in  place  by  overdraw 
checks.  At  the  same  time  the  driver's  seat  in  the  buggy 
or  runabout  was  raised  from  beneath  so  as  to  tilt  the 
occupant  forward  into  an  almost  standing  posture. 
This  worked  well  enough  in  an  open  wagon,  but  in  a 
buggy  the  view  was  apt  to  be  cut  off  by  the  hood, 
if  the  driving  lady  (it  was  always  a  woman)  was 
tall. 

The  second  sign  was  when  Mrs.  Barton — a  widow 
of  some  sixty  odd  years, with  some  pretensions  to  breed- 
ing, but  who  had  been  virtually  driven  from  several 
villages  where  she  had  located  since  her  widowhood, 
owing  to  inaccuracy  of  speech,  beside  which  the 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     211 

words  of  the  Village  Liar  and  the  Emporium  were 
quite  harmless — contracted  inflammatory  rheumatism 
by  chaperoning  her  daughters'  shore  party  and  first 
wetting  her  lower  half  in  clamming  and  then  the 
upper  via  a  thunder  shower.  The  five  "  Barton  girls" 
range  from  twenty-five  to  forty,  and  are  so  mentally 
and  physically  unattractive  and  maladroit  that  it 
would  be  impossible  to  regard  them  as  in  any  danger 
if  they  went  unattended  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth.  On  this  particular  occasion  the  party  consisted 
of  two  dozen  people,  ranging  from  twenty  to  fifty, 
which  it  would  seem  afforded  ample  protection. 

To  be  chaperoned  was  the  swell  thing,  however, 
and  chaperoned  the  "  Barton  girls  "  would  be. 

"  I  cannot  compete  with  multi-millionnaires,"  said 
Mrs.  Barton,  lowering  her  voice,  when  father,  on  being 
called  in,  asked  if  she  had  not  been  rather  rash  at  her 
age  to  go  wading  in  cold  water  for  clams ;  "  but  as  a 
woman  of  the  world  I  must  do  all  that  I  can  to  follow 
the  customs  of  good  society,  and  give  my  daughters 
protection  from  even  a  breath  that  might  affect  their 
reputations." 

The  drawling  tone  was  such  a  good  imitation  of 
Mrs.  Ponsonby's  that  father  could  barely  control  his 
laughter,  especially  as  she  continued :  "  I  also  feel 
that  I  owe  it  to  the  neighbourhood  to  do  all  in  my 


212     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

power  to  put  a  stop  to  buggy  riding,  the  vulgar  recre- 
ation of  the  unmarried.  Of  course  all  cannot  afford 
suitable  traps  and  grooms  to  attend  them,  but  good 
form  should  be  maintained  at  all  hazards,  and  mothers 
should  not  begrudge  taking  trouble." 

Father  said  that  the  vision  of  shy  young  folks 
driving  miserably  along  the  country  lanes  on  Sunday 
afternoons  in  the  family  carryall,  with  mamma  seated 
in  the  middle  of  the  back  seat,  rose  so  ludicrously  before 
him  that  he  was  obliged  to  beat  a  retreat,  promising 
to  send  a  special  remedy  for  the  rheumatism  by  Tim- 
othy Saunders. 

All  winter  I  have  noticed  that  great  local  interest 
has  been  taken  in  the  fashion  journals  that  treat  of 
house  decoration  and  etiquette,  and  on  one  occasion, 
when  making  a  call  at  one  of  our  most  comfortable 
farms,  I  found  the  worthy  Deacon's  wife  poring  over 
an  ornamental  volume,  entitled  "  Hints  to  those  about 
to  enter  Society." 

After  she  had  welcomed  me  and  asked  me  to  "  lay 
off  "  my  things,  she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then, 
opening  the  book  where  her  fat  finger  was  keeping 
the  place,  she  laid  it  on  my  lap,  saying  in  a  whisper: 
"  Would  you  tell  me  if  that  is  true,  Mrs.  Evan  ? 
Lurella  says  you  hobnob  some  with  the  Bluff  folks, 
and  I  wanted  to  make  sure  before  we  break  it  to  pa." 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     213 

The  sentence  to  which  she  pointed  read,  "  No 
gentleman  will  ever  come  to  the  table  without  a  collar, 
or  be  seen  on  porch  or  street  in  his  shirt  sleeves." 
Here,  indeed,  was  a  difficulty  and  a  difference.  How 
should  I  explain  ? 

I  compromised  feebly  and  advised  her  not  to  worry 
the  Deacon  about  what  the  Bluff  people  did  or  the 
book  said,  for  it  need  not  apply  to  the  Cross  Roads 
farmers. 

"I'm  reel  glad  you  don't  hold  it  necessary  fer  pa," 
she  said  with  a  sigh  of  relief  ;  "  he'd  take  it  so  hard, 
eatin'  gettin'  him  all  het  up  anyhow.  Now  between 
ourselves,  Mrs.  Evan,  don't  you  think  writ  out  manners 
is  terrible  confusin'  and  contradictin'  ?  I  wouldn't 
hev  Lurella  hear  me  say  so,  she's  so  set  on  keepin' 
up  with  things,  but  she's  over  to  town  this  afternoon. 

"  I've  been  readin'  for  myself  some,  and  observin' 
too.  The  Bluff  folks  that  plays  grass  hockey,  all 
over  what  was  Bijah  Woods's  farm,  men  and  girls 
both,  has  their  sleeves  pushed  up  as  if  they  were  going 
at  a  day's  wash,  and  their  collars  open  and  hanging  to 
the  hind  button,  which  to  my  mind  looks  shiftlesser  than 
doin'  without.  I  do  hear  also  that  those  same  girls 
when  they  git  in  to  dinner  takes  off  their  waists  alto- 
gether and  sets  down  to  eat  all  stripped  off  to  a  scrap 
of  an  underbody.  That's  true,  for  pa  saw  it  when  he 


214     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

was  takin'  cream  over  to  Ponsonby's ;  the  windows 
was  open  on  the  piazza,  and  he  couldn't  refrain  from 
peekin',  though  I  hope  you'll  not  repeat.  Of  course 
they  may  feel  dreadful  sweaty  after  chasm'  round  in 
the  sun  all  day,  though  I  wouldn't  hold  such  sudden 
coolin'  wholesome ;  but  why  if  women  so  doin'  should 
they  insist  on  men  folks  wearin'  collars,  say  I  ?" 

I  told  the  dear  soul  that  I  had  never  quite 
been  able  to  understand  the  reason  why  of  many  of 
these  things,  and  that  my  ways  were  also  quite 
different  from  those  of  the  Bluff  people ;  for  though 
father  and  Evan  had  been  brought  up  to  wear 
collars,  I  had  never  yet  stripped  to  my  underbody 
at  dinner  time. 

Thus  emboldened,  she  beckoned  me  mysteriously 
toward  the  best  parlour,  saying  as  she  went,  "  Lurella 
seen  the  picture  of  a  Turkey  room  in  the  pattern 
book,  and  as  she's  goin'  to  have  a  social  this  spring, 
she's  fixed  a  corner  of  it  into  our  north  room." 

When  the  light  was  let  in  I  beheld  a  "cosey 
corner  "  composed  of  a  very  hard  divan  covered  with 
a  broch6  shawl,  and  piled  high  with  pillows  of  various 
hues,  while  a  bamboo  fishing-pole  fastened  crosswise 
between  the  top  of  the  window  frames  held  a  sort  of 
beaded  string  drapery  that  hung  to  the  floor  in  front, 
and  was  gathered  to  the  ceiling,  in  the  corner,  with  a 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     215 

red  rosette.  On  close  examination  I  found,  to  my 
surprise,  that  the  trailers  were  made  of  strings  of 
"Job's  Tears,"  the  seed  of  a  sort  of  ornamental 
maize,  the  thought  of  the  labour  that  the  thing  had 
involved  fairly  making  my  eyes  ache. 

"That  is  a  very  pretty  shawl,"  I  remarked,  as  no 
other  truthful  word  of  commendation  seemed  possible. 

"Yes,  it  is  handsome,  and  I  miss  it  dreadful. 
You  see,  it  belonged  to  pa's  mother,  and  I  calker- 
lated  to  wear  it  a  lifetime  for  winter  best,  but  the 
fashion  papers  do  say  shawls  are  out  of  it,  and  this 
is  the  only  use  for  them,  which  Lurella  holds.  I 
can't  ever  take  the  same  comfert  in  a  bindin'  sack, 
noway ;  and  pa,  he's  that  riled  about  the  shawl  bein' 
used  to  set  on,  I  daren't  leave  the  door  open. 
Says  the  whole  thing's  a  '  poke  hole,'  and  the  curt'in 
recollects  him  of  '  strings  of  spinnin'  caterpillars,' 
and  '  no  beau  that's  worth  his  shoes  won't  ever  get 
caught  in  no  such  trap,'  which  is  most  tryin'  to 
Lurella,  so  I  hev  to  act  pleased,  and  smooth  things 
over  best  I  can." 

Well-a-day,  it  is  always  easier  to  answer  the 
riddles  that  puzzle  others,  rather  than  those  that 
confront  ourselves. 

Fully  a  year  ago  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith  gave  me  a  well- 
meaning  hint  that  it  is  not  "  good  form  "  for  me  to 


216     THE    PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

allow  father  or  Evan  to  smoke  while  we  drive  or  walk 
in  public  together.  The  very  next  night  we  three 
happened  to  be  dining,  why  I  don't  know,  at  the 
most  socially  advanced  house  on  the  Bluffs.  When  the 
moment  came  for  the  midway  pause  in  the  rotation 
of  foods,  that  we  might  tamp  down  and  make  secure 
what  we  had  already  eaten  by  the  aid  of  Roman 
punch,  the  gentlemen  very  nearly  discounted  the 
effort,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned  at  least,  by  smok- 
ing cigarettes,  leaning  easily  back  in  their  chairs,  and 
with  no  more  than  a  vague  "  by  your  leave,"  to  the 
ladies.  What  was  more,  there  was  a  peculiarly 
sickening  sweet  odour  to  the  smoke  that  father 
afterward  told  me  was  because  the  tobacco  was 
tinctured  with  opium.  Yet  it  is  "bad  form"  for 
Evan  and  father  to  smoke  in  my  society,  out  in  the 
road  or  street  under  the  big  generous  roof  of  the  sky. 
Dear  little  boys,  I  wonder  what  the  custom  will  be 
when  you  are  grown,  and  read  your  mother's  social 
experience  book  ? 
******* 

The  present  crisis  to  be  faced  is  in  the  form  of  a 
wedding,  —  an  apple-blossom  wedding,  to  take  place 
in  St.  Peter's  Church.  I  have  been  made  a  confident 
in  the  matter  from  the  very  beginning  of  the  wayside 
comedy  which  led  to  it ;  but  I  wish  it  understood  that 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     217 

I  am  not  responsible  for  the  list  of  invited  guests, 
or  the  details  of  the  ceremony,  which  have  been 
laboriously  compiled  from  many  sources,  any  more 
than  I  shall  be  for  the  heartburnings  that  are  sure 
to  follow  in  its  wake. 

******* 
One  morning  early  last  summer  Fannie  Penney 
was  driving  home  from  town,  with  a  rather  lopsided 
load  of  groceries  on  the  back  of  the  buckboard. 
Fanny  did  not  enjoy  these  weekly  trips  for  groceries, 
but  she  did  not  rebel,  as  her  sisters  did ;  and  though 
she  had  aspirations,  they  had  not  developed  as 
quickly  in  her  as  in  the  others,  for  she  was  con- 
sidered already  an  old  maid  (a  state  that  in  the 
country,  strangely  enough,  sets  in  long  before  it  does 
in  the  city,  often  beginning  quite  at  noonday)  at  the 
time  the  Bluff  colony  began  to  attract  attention. 

The  Penney  family  live  in  a  plain  but  substantial 
house  on  the  main  road,  a  little  way  north  of  the 
village,  where  Mr.  Penney  combines  farming,  a 
blacksmith's  shop,  and  a  small  line  of  groceries,  for 
the  benefit  of  his  family.  Up  to  the  present  time  this 
family  has  jogged  along  at  a  fairly  comfortable  pace, 
only  one  daughter,  the  youngest,  Mollie,  having  so 
far  escaped  from  the  traditional  female  employments 
of  the  region  as  to  spend  a  season  in  New  York, 


218    THE  PEOPLE  OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

supplementing  the  grammar  school  education  by  a 
course  in  elocution,  with  Delsarte  accompaniments. 
When  she  returned  she  gave  her  old  friends  to 
understand  that  she  was  thoroughly  misunderstood 
by  her  family;  also,  that  she  was  now  to  be  called 
Marie  and  preferably  Miss,  hinted  that  she  was  soon 
going  on  a  professional  tour,  and  condescendingly 
agreed  to  give  a  free  recital  at  a  Sunday-school 
entertainment.  At  this  she  startled  the  community 
by  reciting  the  sleep-walking  scene  from  Lady 
Macbeth,  clad  in  a  lace-trimmed  Empire  nightgown, 
red  slippers  with  high  heels,  whitened  face,  wild  hair, 
and,  of  course,  the  candlestick,  with  such  terrible 
effect  that  the  mothers  of  the  infant  class  had 
difficulty  in  getting  their  progeny  to  stay  in  bed  in 
the  dark  for  some  weeks  to  come.  The  pastor  con- 
sidered that,  under  the  circumstances,  she  gave  the 
words  "out  damned  spot"  undue  emphasis,  while 
the  "Watch-out  Committee"  of  the  S.  C.  E.  failed 
entirely  to  agree  as  to  what  gave  the  nightgown  a 
decided  pink  tint,  opinions  greatly  varying.  Some 
insisted  that  it  was  flesh,  while  the  pastor's  wife, 
knowing  the  flavour  of  persecution,  firmly  insisted 
that  it  was  merely  a  pink  cambric  slip,  as  was  most 
right  and  proper.  But  her  charity  was  immediately 
discounted  by  Mrs.  Barton,  who  said  that  likely  it 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     219 

was  pink  lining,  for  Marie's  flesh  was  yellow,  and 
not  pink. 

However,  this  event  was  soon  forgotten  in  the 
greater  interest  that  gathered  about  Fannie  Penney's 
return  ride  from  town. 

It  seems  that  soon  after  Fannie  left  the  town  limits 
and  was  jogging  along  the  turnpike,  the  big  roan 
horse  of  all  work  began  to  stumble,  then  grew  lame 
forward,  and  finally  came  to  a  standstill. 

Fannie  got  out,  examined  his  feet,  soon  found  that 
not  only  had  he  cast  a  shoe,  but  in  doing  so  had 
managed  to  step  on  a  nail  and  drive  it  into  his  frog. 
With  the  good  judgment  of  a  farrier's  daughter,  she 
promptly  unharnessed  him.  Looking  about  and  see- 
ing cows  grazing  in  a  neighbouring  pasture,  she  led 
him  slowly  to  the  side  of  the  road,  let  down  the  bars 
and  turned  him  loose,  where  he  immediately  showed 
his  appreciation  of  the  situation  by  lying  down  and 
nibbling  at  the  grass  within  reach. 

So  far  so  good,  but  when  Fannie  began  to  consider 
the  possibility  of  walking  home,  with  the  chance  of 
being  picked  up  on  the  road  by  some  one,  and  getting 
her  father  to  come  and  remove  the  nail,  the  load  of 
groceries  loomed  up  before  her.  Not  only  did  they 
represent  considerable  money  value,  country  reckon- 
ing, and  there  was  no  house  within  half  a  mile  either 


220    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

way,  but  some  of  the  articles,  such  as  lard,  were  in 
danger  of  being  ruined  by  the  hot  sun;  so  Fannie 
walked  along  the  road,  searching  the  dust  for  the  lost 
shoe,  seeing  no  way  out  of  her  dilemma  unless  some 
one  should  come  by. 

She  did  not  find  the  shoe,  but  soon  a  cloud  of  dust 
from  the  town  side  told  of  an  approaching  team,  and 
she  went  to  the  shade  of  the  only  near-by  tree  and 
waited. 

A  moment  later,  the  team  coming  up  proved  to  be 
a  freshly  painted  runabout,  drawn  by  a  fine  bay  horse 
in  trim  harness,  driven  by  the  average  stable  boy; 
while  beside  him  sat  a  smooth-faced,  keen-eyed  man, 
rather  under  middle  age,  dressed  in  a  spotless  light 
suit,  tan  shoes,  lilac  shirt,  opalesque  tie,  finished  above 
by  a  Panama  hat  pinched  into  many  dimples. 

He  was  evidently  a  man  of  quick  action,  for  he 
saw  the  girl  and  horseless  wagon  at  a  glance,  touched 
the  reins,  stopped  the  horse,  and  jumped  out  before 
Fannie  could  think,  taking  off  his  hat  and  saying :  — 

"  Lady  in  distress,  runaway  horse,  lucky  not  to 
have  upset  load  —  can  I  be  of  any  use  ?  "  all  in  one 
breath. 

Fannie  had  never  read  Dickens,  so  that  no  com- 
parison with  the  speech  of  Alfred  Jingle  arose  to 
make  her  distrustful,  which  was  unnecessary,  and  the 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     221 

bowing  figure  appeared  to  her  the  perfection  of  up- 
to-date  manly  elegance.  Could  it  —  yes,  it  must  be  a 
guest  on  the  way  to  the  Bluffs. 

She  blushingly  explained  the  complication,  feeling 
almost  ashamed  to  mention  her  fears  as  to  the  melt- 
ing lard,  it  seemed  so  insignificant  in  such  a  presence; 
but  he  quickly  reassured  her  by  going  to  the  wagon, 
pulling  it  energetically  under  the  tree,  and  spread- 
ing the  linen  lap-robe  over  the  goods,  the  effort 
causing  streams  of  perspiration  to  alter  the  stately  ap- 
pearance of  a  three-inch  high  collar.  Next  he  sprang 
over  the  fence  into  the  field,  found  that  the  nail  was 
too  firmly  wedged  to  be  drawn  from  the  horse's  hoof 
with  either  fingers  or  a  wagon  wrench,  and  returned 
to  the  road  again. 

"  Now,  may  I  ask  where  you  live  ?  "  he  said,  dust- 
ing himself  off  with  vigorous  flips  of  a  large  Yale 
blue  silk  handkerchief. 

Fannie  told  him,  and  her  name,  also,  and  ventured 
to  ask  that,  if  he  was  going  through  Oaklands,  he 
would  be  good  enough  to  tell  her  uncle,  who  kept  the 
livery  stable,  to  send  out  for  her. 

"  I  guess  we  can  better  that,"  he  said,  smiling 
genially.  "  I'm  going  to  Oaklands  to  meet  my  trunk 
and  stop  over  a  day.  I'll  leave  the  boy  here  with 
your  goods,  drive  you  in,  pick  up  your  father,  he 


222     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

returns  with  this  horse,  brings  tools,  fixes  up  his  own, 
boy  takes  rig  back  to  town,  your  father  drives  goods 
home,  see  ? " 

Fannie  saw  that  the  arrangements  were  unanswer- 
ably suitable ;  also,  that  to  carry  them  out  she  must 
take  a  drive  with  the  unknown,  a  drive  of  necessity 
to  be  sure,  yet  one  that  she  could  safely  call  romantic, 
especially  as,  when  he  turned  to  help  her  into  the 
runabout,  he  picked  up  a  horseshoe  that  lay  in  the 
bottom  and  gave  it  to  her,  saying,  "It's  yours ;  I 
found  it  half  a  mile  back ;  I  never  pass  a  horseshoe, 
never  can  tell  when  it'll  bring  luck." 

Before  they  had  gone  very  far  her  dream  of  his 
being  a  guest  on  his  way  to  the  Bluffs  was  shattered 
by  his  saying:  "I've  got  the  advantage  of  you  — 
know  your  name,  you  don't  know  mine.  That's  not 
fair.  '  Aim  to  be  fair  '  's  my  motto,  even  if  I  don't 
chance  to  hit  it,"  and  he  pulled  out  a  bulky  wallet 
and  held  it  toward  her  with  one  hand,  that  she  might 
help  herself  to  one  of  the  cards  with  which  it  was 
filled. 

Her  hand  touched  his ;  she  blushed  so  that  her 
freckles  were  veiled  for  the  moment  as  she  read, 
half  aloud :  "  L.  Middleton  —  with  Frank  Brothers. 
Dealers  in  first-class  canned  goods,"  the  New  York 
address  being  in  the  corner.  The  feeling  of  disap- 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     223 

pointment  only  lasted  for  a  moment,  for  was  not  a 
travelling  man,  as  the  drummer  is  always  called  in 
country  towns,  a  person  of  experience  and  knowledge 
of  the  world,  as  well  as  being  not  infrequently 
shrouded  in  mystery  ?  As  she  pondered  on  the  card, 
wondering  if  she  dared  put  it  in  her  pocket,  he  said 
in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  again  extending  the  wallet : 
"  Don't  hesitate,  take  the  deck,  may  come  handy, 
father  like  to  keep  goods  in  stock  some  time.  That's 
my  regular ;  carry  a  side  line  too,  perfumes  and  an 
A  i  hair  restorer.  Got  all  my  samples  at  Oaklands 
depot.  You  mind  stopping  there  on  the  way  ?  Want 
to  get  fresh  collar." 

No,  of  course  Fannie  would  not  mind ;  this  last 
request  fixed  her  companion  firmly  in  her  esteem. 
Any  other  man  of  her  acquaintance  would  have  re- 
moved his  collar  and  proceeded  without  one,  never 
giving  the  matter  a  thought;  in  fact,  she  had  been 
momentarily  expecting  that  this  would  happen.  Now 
she  would  have  the  bliss  of  taking  him  home  in  all 
the  perfection  of  his  toilet  as  she  first  beheld  him. 

From  that  moment  she  grew  more  conversational, 
and  his  utterance  became  less  jerky,  until,  when  they 
finally  drove  up  back  of  the  long  red  brick  railway 
station  at  Oaklands,  a  little  before  noon,  she  had  not 
only  given  him  a  synopsis  of  local  history,  but  was, 


in  her  excitement,  vainly  trying  to  recollect  what 
day  of  the  week  it  was,  so  that  she  might  judge  of 
the  dinner  probabilities  at  home,  also  if  it  would  be 
safe  to  ask  him  to  stay.  Fortunately  remembering 
that  she  saw  her  father  beheading  chickens  the  night 
before,  which  guaranteed  a  substantial  meal,  she 
decided  it  was  an  absolute  duty. 

As  L.  Middleton  emerged  from  the  baggage  room 
in  a  fresh  collar,  even  higher  than  the  other,  he  threw 
an  ornamental  bottle  of  violet  water  into  Fannie's  lap 
to  keep  company  with  the  horseshoe.  Immediately 
Hope  arose  at  the  combination,  and  settled  under  the 
left  folds  of  Fannie's  pink  shirt  waist ;  for  Middleton 
seems  a  distinguished  name  to  one  who  has  been 
called  Penney  for  twenty-eight  years,  and  romance 
had  never  died  in  the  heart  under  the  pink  waist  for 
the  reason  that  it  was  only  at  this  moment  being  born. 

On  arriving  at  home,  Fate  continued  to  prove  kind. 
Mrs.  Penney  was  inspired  to  ask  the  guest  to  "  stop 
to  dinner,"  without  any  hints  or  gesticulations  being 
necessary,  which  might  have  marred  the  first  impres- 
sion. Not  only  did  the  chickens  appear  at  the  table, 
where  no  canned  food  was  present,  but  there  was  a 
deep  cherry  pie  as  well,  which  was  eaten  with  pecul- 
iar relish  by  the  commercial  traveller,  accustomed  to 
the  awful  fare  of  New  England  country  hotels,  where 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     225 

he  was  often  obliged  to  use  his  own  samples  to  fill 
gaps.  He  gazed  about  at  the  comfortable  kitchen, 
and  won  Mamma  Penney  by  praising  the  food  and 
saying  that  he  was  raised  on  a  farm.  Father  Penney 
took  a  hasty  bite  in  the  buttery,  and  soon  disappeared 
to  rescue  his  goods  from  the  highway.  He  was 
always  considered  something  of  a  drawback  to  the 
matrimonial  prospects  of  his  daughters  ;  for,  as  his 
nose  indicated,  he  had  a  firm,  not  to  say  combative, 
disposition,  and  frequently  insisted  upon  having  not 
only  the  last  but  the  first  word  upon  every  subject, 
so  that  Fannie  regarded  his  going  in  the  light  of  a 
special  providence. 

After  dinner  the  three  other  Penney  sisters  all  tried 
their  best  to  be  agreeable,  Marie  donning  a  clinging  blue 
gown  and  walking  up  and  down  the  piazza,  watering 
plants  at  this  unusual  hour  of  the  day  for  his  par- 
ticular benefit,  a  performance  which  caused  L.  Middle- 
ton  to  ask,  "  Say,  did  you  ever  do  a  vaudeville  turn  ?  " 
And  Marie,  not  knowing  whether  to  take  the  remark 
as  a  criticism  or  a  compliment,  preferred  to  take  the 
latter  view  and  answer  in  languid  tones,  — 

"  No,  but  I  have  acted,  and  I've  been  seriously 
advised  to  go  on  the  stage." 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  the  load  of  groceries 
having  arrived  safely,  Fannie's  "  hero  "  took  his  leave, 
Q 


226     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Papa  Penney  driving  him  to  the  village  inn,  where  he 
was  to  unpack  his  samples. 

For  a  while  L.  Middleton  was  a  standard  topic  of 
conversation  among  the  girls.  They  wondered  for 
what  L.  stood.  Fannie  guessed  Louis,  Marie  spite- 
fully suggested  that  it  might  be  Lucifer,  and  that  was 
why  he  didn't  spell  it  out.  Then  as  he  seemed  about 
fading  from  the  horizon,  he  reappeared  suddenly  one 
crisp  October  morning,  just  starting  on  his  eastern 
fall  route,  he  said,  and  invited  Fanny  to  go  to  the 
County  Fair. 

Again  a  period  of  silence  followed.  The  sisters 
remarked  that  most  travelling  men  were  swindlers, 
etc.,  but  Fannie  persistently  put  violet  water  on  the 
handkerchief  that  she  tucked  under  her  pillow  every 
night,  until,  as  winter  set  in,  the  supply  failed. 

Then  an  idea  came  to  her,  she  took  the  horseshoe 
from  where  it  had  been  hanging  over  her  door,  covered 
its  dinginess  with  two  coats  of  gold  paint,  cut  the 
legend,  "Sweet  Violets,"  together  with  the  embossed 
flowers,  from  the  label  on  the  perfume  bottle,  and 
pasted  them  on  the  horseshoe,  which  she  further  orna- 
mented with  an  enormous  ribbon  bow,  and  despatched 
it  secretly  to  L.  Middleton  by  express  a  few  days 
before  Christmas. 

At  New  Year's  a  box  arrived  for  Fannie.     It  con 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     227 

tained  a  gold  pin  in  the  shape  of  a  horseshoe,  in 
addition  to  a  large,  heart-shaped  candy  box  filled  with 
such  chocolates  that  each  was  as  a  foretaste  of  celes- 
tial bliss  to  Fannie,  who  now  thought  she  might  fairly 
assume  airs  of  importance. 

Half  a  dozen  letters  went  rapidly  back  and  forth, 
and  then  the  proposal  bounded  along  as  unexpectedly 
as  every  other  detail  of  the  courtship.  There  was 
very  little  sentiment  of  expression  about  it,  but  he  was 
in  earnest  and  gave  references  as  to  his  respectability, 
etc.,  much  as  if  he  were  applying  for  a  business  posi- 
tion, and  ended  by  asking  her  at  which  end  of  his 
route  she  preferred  to  live,  New  York,  or  Portland, 
Maine,  and  if  in  New  York,  would  she  prefer  Brooklyn 
or  Harlem?" 

Fannie  quickly  decided  upon  Harlem,  for,  as  Marie 
said,  "  There  one  only  need  give  the  street  name  and 
number,  while  very  few  people  yet  realize  that  Brook- 
lyn really  is  in  New  York." 

This  important  matter  settled,  the  Penney  girls 
arose  in  their  might  upon  the  wings  of  ambition. 
There  should  be  a  church  wedding. 

Now  the  Penneys  were,  as  all  their  forbears  had 
been,  Congregationalists;  but  that  church  had  no 
middle  aisle,  besides,  as  there  was  no  giving  away  of 
the  bride  in  the  service,  there  was  little  chance  for 


228     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE    WHIRLPOOL 

pomp  and  ceremony.  It  was  discovered  that  the 
groom's  parents  had  been  Episcopalians,  and  though 
he  was  liberal  to  the  degree  of  indifference  upon  such 
matters,  it  was  decided  that  to  have  the  wedding  in 
St.  Peter's  would  be  a  delicate  compliment  to  him. 

All  the  spring  the  village  dressmaker  has  been  at 
work  upon  the  gowns  of  bride  and  of  bridesmaids,  of 
whom  there  are  to  be  six,  and  now  the  cards  are  out 
and  the  groom's  name  also,  the  L  at  the  last  moment 
having  been  found  to  stand  for  Liberty.  If  they  had 
consulted  the  groom,  he  would  have  decried  all  fuss, 
for  Fannie's  chief  attraction  was  that  he  thought  her 
an  unspoiled,  simple-minded  country  girl. 

The  hour  was  originally  set  for  the  morning,  but  as 
Fannie  saw  in  her  fashion  paper  that  freckled  people 
often  developed  a  peculiarly  charming  complexion 
when  seen  by  lamplight,  the  time  was  changed  to 
eight  at  night,  in  spite  of  the  complications  it  caused. 

A  week  before  the  invitations  were  issued  Fannie 
came  to  see  me  and  after  some  preamble  said  :  "  Mrs. 
Evan,  I  want  my  wedding  to  be  good  form,  and  I'd 
like  to  do  the  swell  thing  all  through.  Now  the  Par- 
lour Journal  says  that  the  front  pews  that  are  divided 
off  by  a  white  ribbon  should  be  for  the  bride's  folks 
on  one  side  of  the  aisle  and  the  groom's  on  the  other. 
Mr.  Middleton  hasn't  any  people  near  by  enough  to 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     229 

come,  so  I  thought  I'd  have  the  Bluff  folks  sit  on 
that  side." 

"The  Bluff  people?"  I  queried,  in  amazement. 
"  You  surely  aren't  going  to  invite  them  ?  Do  you 
know  any  of  them  ? " 

"Well,  not  intimately,  but  Mrs.  Ponsonby  has  been 
to  the  house  for  eggs,  and  Mrs.  Latham's  horse  dropped 
a  shoe  last  week  and  father  set  it,  and  the  Van- 
derveer  boy's  pony  ran  away  into  our  front  yard  the 
other  day,  so  I  don't  feel  as  if  they  were  strangers 
and  to  be  left  out.  Oh,  Mrs.  Evan,  if  they'd  only  come 
and  wear  some  of  their  fine  clothes  to  light  up  the 
church,  it  would  be  in  the  papers,  the  Bee  and  the 
Week's  News  over  town  maybe,  and  give  me  such 
a  start !  For  you  know  I'm  to  live  in  New  York,  and 
as  I've  never  left  home  before,  it  would  be  so  pleasant 
to  know  somebody  there  !  " 

I  almost  made  up  my  mind  to  try  to  put  things 
before  her  in  their  true  light,  and  save  her  from  dis- 
appointment, but  then  I  realized  that  I  was  too  near 
her  own  age.  Ah,  if  Lavinia  Dorman  had  only  been 
here  that  day  she  could  possibly  have  advised  Fannie 
without  giving  offence. 

May  i6th.  The  wedding  is  over.  Shall  I  ever  for- 
get it  ?  The  rain  and  cool  weather  of  the  past  ten 
days  kept  back  the  apple  blossoms,  so  that  the  supply 


230    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

for  decorating  the  church  was  poor  and  the  blossoms 
themselves  only  half  open  and  water-soaked.  Mrs. 
Jenks-Smith,  who  always  hears  everything,  knowing  of 
the  dilemma,  in  the  goodness  of  her  heart  sent  some 
baskets  of  hothouse  flowers,  but  the  girls  and  men 
who  were  decorating  did  not  know  how  to  handle 
them  effectively,  for  Fannie,  still  clinging  to  senti- 
ment, had  gilded  nearly  a  barrel  of  old  horseshoes, 
which  were  tied  with  white  ribbon  to  every  available 
place,  being  especially  prominent  on  the  doors  of  the 
reserved  pews. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  fine  mist  set  in  with  clouds 
of  fog,  which,  if  it  got  into  the  church,  I  knew  would 
completely  conceal  the  glimmer  of  the  oil  lamps.  It 
seems  that  Papa  Penney  was  not  told  until  an  hour 
before  the  ceremony  that  he  was  to  walk  up  the  aisle 
with  the  bride  on  his  arm  and  give  her  away.  This 
he  flatly  refused  to  do.  He  considered  it  enough  of 
an  affliction  to  have  the  wedding  in  church  at  all,  and 
it  was  not  until  his  wife  had  given  her  first  exhibition 
of  fainting,  and  Fannie  had  cried  her  eyes  red,  that  he 
apparently  yielded. 

We  arrived  at  the  church  at  about  ten  minutes  to 
eight,  father  and  Evan  having  been  persuaded  to 
come  in  recognition  of  good  neighbourhood  feeling. 
The  back  part  of  the  church  was  well  filled,  but  the 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     231 

space  above  the  ribbon  was  painfully  empty.  The 
glimmering  lamps  did  little  more  than  reveal  the 
gloom,  and  the  horseshoes  gave  a  strange  racing- 
stable  effect. 

We  tried  to  spread  ourselves  out  as  much  as  possi- 
ble to  fill  up,  and  presently  the  Ponsonby  girls  entered 
with  some  friends,  seemingly  astonished  at  being  seated 
within  the  barrier,  for  they  had  never  seen  their  cards 
of  invitation,  and  had  come  as  a  sort  of  lark  to  kill 
time  on  a  wet  evening. 

The  ushers  wandered  dismally  up  and  down,  stretch- 
ing their  hands  nervously  as  if  unused  to  gloves. 
Presently  they  fell  back,  and  the  organ,  in  the  hands 
of  an  amateur  performer  and  an  inadequate  blower, 
began  to  chirp  and  hoot  merrily,  by  which  we  knew 
the  bridal  party  was  about  to  appear. 

The  ushers  came  first,  divided,  and  disappeared 
successfully  in  the  shadows,  on  either  side  of  the 
chancel  steps.  A  long  wait  and  then  Marie  Penney 
followed,  walking  alone,  as  maid  of  honour ;  she  had 
insisted  upon  having  plenty  of  room,  as  she  said  so 
few  people  walked  well  that  they  spoiled  her  gait. 
Next  came  the  six  bridesmaids  on  a  gallop,  then  Papa 
Penney  and  the  bride.  He  walked  along  at  a  jog 
trot,  and  he  looked  furtively  about  as  if  for  a  loop- 
hole of  escape.  As  for  poor  Mrs.  Penney,  instead  of 


232     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

being  seated  in  the  front  pew  before  the  procession 
entered,  she  was  entirely  forgotten  in  the  excitement, 
and  stood  trembling  near  the  door,  until  some  one 
drew  her  into  a  seat  in  neighbourly  sympathy. 

The  clergyman  stood  waiting,  the  bridesmaids 
grouped  themselves  behind  papa,  so  that  there  was 
no  retreat,  but  where  was  the  groom  and  the  best 
man  ?  One,  two,  three  minutes  passed,  but  no  sign. 
He  had  been  directed  to  the  vestry  door  as  the  bridal 
party  drove  up.  Could  he  suddenly  have  changed 
his  mind,  and  disappeared? 

The  silence  was  awful,  the  Ponsonby  girls  giggled 
aloud,  and  finally  got  into  such  gales  of  laughter 
that  I  was  ashamed.  The  organ  had  dropped  into 
the  customary  groaning  undertone  that  is  meant,  I 
suppose,  to  give  courage  to  the  nervous  and  weak- 
voiced  during  the  responses. 

*****»# 

Outside  the  church,  in  the  rear,  two  men  in  even- 
ing dress  might  have  been  seen  blundering  about  in 
the  dark,  vainly  trying  to  find  an  open  door,  for 
besides  the  door  to  the  vestry  there  were  three 
others  close  together,  one  opening  into  the  little 
chantry,  one  the  Sunday-school  room,  and  one  into 
the  cellar.  They  battered  and  pulled  and  beat  to  no 
purpose,  until  a  mighty  pound  forced  one  in,  and 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     233 

the  two  men  found  themselves  flying  down  a  flight 
of  steps,  and  landing  in  a  heap  of  coal. 

Dazed,  and  not  a  little  bruised,  the  groom  struck  a 
match,  and  looked  about ;  the  best  man  had  sprained 
his  ankle,  and  said  so  in  language  unbefitting  the 
location,  but  Liberty  Middleton  arose  superior  to  the 
coal.  Judging  by  the  music  that  the  ceremony  had 
begun,  he  told  his  crippled  friend  to  sit  still  until  he 
came  back  for  him,  and,  by  lighting  a  series  of  wax 
matches,  found  his  way  back  to  the  front  door  of 
the  church,  and  strode  up  the  aisle  dishevelled,  and 
with  a  smutty  forehead,  just  as  Papa  Penney  had 
succeeded  in  breaking  through  the  bridesmaids, 
dragging  Fannie  with  him.  A  sigh  of  relief  arose. 
The  couple  stepped  forward  and  the  ceremony 
began.  When,  however,  the  giving  away  time  came, 
it  was  found  that  Papa  Penney  had  retreated  to  a 
pew,  from  which  he  could  not  be  dislodged.  Another 
hitch  was  only  averted  by  the  groom  turning  pleas- 
antly toward  his  father-in-law,  and  saying,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  "It's  all  right,  don't  trouble  to 
move ;  you  said  '  I  do,'  I  think ;  the  Parson  under- 
stands." The  ceremony  was  ended  without  further 
complication.  When  Fannie  walked  out  upon  the 
arm  of  the  self-possessed  Liberty,  I  thought  that  the 
travelling  man  had  the  makings  of  a  hero  in  him 


234     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

after  all.  It  afterward  transpired  that  the  hapless 
best  man,  left  in  the  coal  cellar,  and  not  missed  until 
the  party  was  halfway  home,  had  only  wrenched  his 
ankle,  and  made  his  escape  to  the  village  tavern  for 
consolation,  proving  that  even  commercial  travellers 
may  be  upset  by  a  fashionable  wedding  ceremony. 


X 

THE  WHIRL  BEGINS 

May  30.  The  People  of  the  Whirlpool  have  come 
to  the  Bluffs,  and  the  swirl  and  spray  has,  in  a 
measure,  followed  them.  I  had  well-nigh  written, 
"  are  settled  at  the  Bluffs,"  but  the  Whirlpoolers  are 
perpetual  migrants,  unlike  the  feathered  birds  of 
passage  never  absolutely  settling  anywhere  even  for 
the  nesting  season,  sometimes  even  taking  to  the 
water  by  preference,  at  the  time,  of  all  others,  when 
home  is  most  loved  and  cherished  by  the  "comfort- 
ably poor." 

The  houses,  nominally  closed  since  the  holidays, 
have  been  reopened,  one  by  one,  ever  since  the  general 
return  from  the  south  in  April,  after  which  season, 
Mrs.  Jenks-Smith  assures  me,  it  is  bad  form  to  be 
seen  in  New  York  on  Sunday. 

This  fiat,  however,  does  not  prevent  members  of 
almost  every  family  from  spending  several  days  a 
week  in  the  city,  thus  protecting  themselves  against 
the  possible  monotony  of  home  living  by  lunching 

235 


236     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

and  dining,  either  singly  or  in  informal  groups,  at  the 
public  restaurants. 

Father  has  always  held  the  theory  that  ladies 
should  dress  inconspicuously  in  the  public  streets  and 
hostelries,  and  for  a  woman  to  do  otherwise,  he  con- 
sidered, was  to  prove  that  she  had  no  claim  upon 
gentility.  Evan  used  to  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the 
only  people  who  display  their  fine  clothes  in  hotels 
are  those  who  have  no  homes  in  which  to  wear  them. 

Dear,  innocent  provincials,  the  Whirlpoolers  have 
changed  all  that,  and  given  the  custom  their  hall  mark 
that  stamps  it  vogue.  In  fact,  in  glancing  at  the 
papers,  by  the  light  of  our  Bluff  Colony,  which,  after 
all,  is  but  a  single  current  of  the  pool  that  whirls  in 
the  shape  of  the  letter  S,  it  seems  to  me  that  a  new 
field  has  been  opened  for  the  society  journalist  —  the 
reporting  of  the  gowns  worn  at  the  restaurants  in  the 
"  between  seasons." 

One  evening,  a  few  weeks  ago,  Evan  and  I  went, 
by  request,  to  one  of  the  most  celebrated  of  these 
resorts  to  call  upon  some  friends  of  his,  a  bride  and 
groom,  then  passing  through  the  city.  We  were 
directed  where  to  find  them  in  the  corridor  —  midway 
would  have  been  a  better  term.  We  found  them, 
and  many  others  beside ! 

"Where  do  these  people  come  from  ?  "  I  whispered 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     237 

to  Evan,  looking  down  the  row  of  women  of  all  ages 
and,  if  expression  may  indicate,  all  grades,  who, 
dressed  and  undressed  in  lavish  opulence,  were  lolling 
about,  much  as  if  expecting  a  call  to  go  upon  the  stage 
and  take  part  in  some  spectacle,  but  that  the  clothes 
and  jewels  were  too  magnificent  to  be  stage  prop- 
erties. 

"  Brewers'  wives  from  the  west,  and  unknown  quan- 
tities ;  people  who  come  to  New  York  to  see  and  be 
seen,"  he  answered  carelessly ;  but  almost  as  he  spoke 
his  words  were  checked  by  the  entrance  of  an  equally 
gorgeous  group,  composed  of  those  who  Lavinia  Dor- 
man  had  assured  us  were  among  the  most  conserva- 
tive of  our  new  neighbours,  all  talking  aloud,  as  if 
to  an  audience,  as  they  literally  swept  into  the  dining 
room,  where  Mrs.  Center  was  already  seated.  To  be 
sure,  the  clothes,  in  their  cases,  were  worn  with  a 
difference, — the  ease  of  habit, — but  to  all  outward 
appearance  the  distinction  began  and  ended  there. 
Ah  me !  to  think  of  having  such  things  cross  the 
horizon  in  May,  when,  unless  one  is  forced  to  be 
miserable,  one  must  be  inexpressibly  happy. 

I  have  been  working  all  the  month  in  my  garden,  as 
of  old,  or  trying  to,  at  least,  but  upon  the  principle 
that  no  member  of  a  community  can  either  live  or  die 
wholly  to,  or  by,  himself,  I  here  missed  the  untram- 


238     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

melled  liberty  of  yore.  Not  that  I  care  if  I  am 
detected  collarless,  in  a  brown  Holland  apron,  with 
earthy  fingers,  and  sometimes  even  a  smutty  nose, 
but  the  Whirlpoolers,  unable  to  regard  the  work  as 
serious,  do  not  hesitate  to  interrupt,  if  nothing  more. 

Imagine  the  assurance  of  the  twenty-two-year-old 
Ponsonby  girl,  who  came  dashing  up  all  of  a  fume  last 
Saturday  morning,  when  I  was  comfortably  seated 
on  the  old  tea  tray,  transplanting  a  flat  of  my  best 
ostrich  plume  asters,  and  begging  me,  her  mother 
being  away,  to  chaperon  her  to  a  ball  game,  in  a  town 
not  far  off  up  the  railroad,  with  harmless,  pink-eyed 
Teddy  Tice,  one  of  her  brother's  college  mates.  It 
seems  that  if  she  could  have  driven  up  and  taken  a 
groom  it  would  have  been  good  form,  but  there  was 
some  complication  about  the  horses,  and  to  go  by 
rail  unchaperoned,  even  though  surrounded  by  a  ear- 
ful of  people,  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  I  pointed 
to  the  asters  that  must  be  set  out  and  covered  before 
the  sun  was  high,  but  she  couldn't  understand,  and 
went  off  in  a  huff. 

What  a  disagreeable  word  chaperon  is  at  best,  and 
what  a  thankless  vocation  the  unlisted,  active,  and 
very  irregular  verb  '  to  chaperon  '  implies.  I  quite 
agree  with  Johnson,  who  denounced  the  term  as 
affected,  for  certainly  its  application  is,  though 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     239 

Lavinia  Dorman  says  it  is  the  natural  effect  of  a 
definite  cause,  and  that  it  is  quite  necessary  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  quarter  where  it  most 
obtains. 

Monday  morning  I  was  again  interrupted  in  my 
garden  operations  by  a  Whirlpooler,  but  the  reason 
was  quite  different.  The  twins  have  gardens  of  their 
own,  which  are  as  individual  and  distinctive  as  their 
two  selves.  Richard  delights  in  straight  rows,  well 
patted  down  between,  and  treats  the  small  seeds  that 
he  plants  with  a  sort  of  paternal  patience.  Ian  dis- 
dains any  seed  smaller  than  a  nasturtium  or  bean, 
whose  growth  is  soon  apparent,  and  has  collected  a 
motley  assortment  of  bulbs,  roots,  and  plants,  without 
regard  to  size  or  season,  and  bordered  his  patch  with 
onion  sets  for  Corney  Delaney's  express  benefit,  the 
goat  having  a  Gallic  taste  for  highly  flavoured  morsels. 
Both  boys  are  fairly  patient  with  their  own  gardening 
operations,  but  their  joy  is  to  "help  "  me  by  handing 
tools,  watering  plants,  and  squirting  insecticides,  in 
my  society  and  under  my  direction. 

Of  course  I  could  do  it  all  much  quicker  by  my- 
self, and  it  has  hampered  me  this  spring,  for  last 
season  they  were  too  irresponsible  to  more  than  play 
work  a  few  minutes  at  a  time. 

Now  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  their 


240    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

right  to  learn  by  helping  me,  and  that  it  is  the  denial 
of  companionship,  either  from  selfishness  or  some 
absurd  educational  theory,  that  weakens  the  force  of 
home  ties  later  on. 

I  have  been  frequently  lectured  by  those  older,  but 
more  especially  "new  mothers"  younger  than  I, 
about  staying  with  the  boys  at  bedtime  until  they 
grow  drowsy.  "The  baby  is  put  to  bed,  and  if  he 
cries  I  pay  no  attention ;  it  is  only  temper,  not  pain, 
for  he  stops  the  minute  I  speak  to  him,"  they  say.  I 
feel  the  blood  rush  to  my  face  and  the  sting  to  my 
tongue  always  when  I  hear  this. 

Not  pain,  not  temper,  but  the  unconscious  yearning 
for  companionship,  for  mother-love,  is  oftener  the 
motive  of  the  pitiful  cry.  Why  should  it  be  denied  ? 
The  mother  bird  broods  her  young  in  the  nest  at 
twilight,  and  the  father  bird  sings  a  lullaby  to  both. 
The  kittens  luxuriously  sup  themselves  to  sleep  with 
the  warm  mother  flesh  responding  to  their  seeking 
paws.  In  wild  life  I  know  not  an  animal  who  does 
not  in  some  way  soothe  her  young  to  sleep.  Why 
should  the  human  child,  the  son  of  man,  be  forced  to 
live  without  the  dream  memories  that  linger  about 
happy  sleeping  times  ?  What  can  the  vaunted  disci- 
pline give  to  replace  them  ?  It  is  then,  as  they  grow, 
and  speech  forms  on  their  lips,  that  little  confessions 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     241 

come  out  and  wrongs  are  naturally  righted  through 
confidence,  before  they  can  sprout  and  grow. 

I  was  not  quite  five  when  I  last  watched  mother 
sowing  her  flower  seeds,  and  yet  I  remember  to  this 
day  the  way  in  which  she  did  it,  and  so  when  it  came 
time  to  give  my  bed  of  summer  roses  its  first  bath  of 
whale  oil,  soap,  and  water,  and  the  boys  gave  whoops 
of  joy  when  they  saw  Bertel  wheel  out  the  tub  and  I 
appeared  with  the  shining  brass  syringe,  I  resolved 
to  let  them  have  the  questionable  delight  of  adminis- 
tering the  shower  bath,  even  if  it  took  all  day. 

I  have  appropriated  a  long  strip  of  rich,  deep  soil 
for  these  tender  roses,  quite  away  from  the  formal 
garden  and  across  the  path  from  the  new  strawberry 
bed,  which  by  the  necessity  of  rotation  has  worked 
its  way  from  the  vegetable  garden  to  the  open  spot 
under  the  bank  wall  by  the  stable  where  the  hotbeds 
congregate.  This  wall  breaks  the  sweep  of  the  wind, 
and  so  both  our  tender  roses  and  strawberries  are  of 
the  earliest,  the  fruit  already  being  well  set  and  large. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  morning.  The  work  was 
progressing  finely,  without  more  than  the  usual  amount 
of  slop  and  misdirected  effort,  when  a  violent  tooting 
from  the  direction  of  the  highway  caused  me  to  stop, 
and  Ian  dropped  the  squirter  that  I  had  newly  filled 
for  his  turn,  upon  the  grass  border,  while  he  and 


242     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Richard  scurried  toward  the  gateway  to  see  what  was 
the  matter,  for  the  sound  was  like  the  screech  of  an 
automobile  horn  in  distress.  It  was  ! 

A  streak  of  dark  red  and  a  glitter  of  brass  flashed 
in  between  the  gate  posts,  grazing  them,  and  barely 
escaping  an  upset,  and  then  came  plunging  toward 
me.  I  screamed  to  the  boys,  who  seemed  to  me 
directly  in  the  path  of  the  Thing,  which  in  another 
moment  I  recognized  as  an  automobile  of  the  batter- 
ing-ram variety,  belonging  to  Harvey  Somers,  Gwen- 
dolen Burton's  fiance,  which  for  the  past  week  had 
been  the  terror  of  father's  steady  old  gray  horses, 
owing  to  its  constitutional  eccentricities. 

Mr.  Somers  was  handling  it  single-handed,  and 
though  he  was  coming  at  a  reckless  speed,  I  expected 
that  he  would  swing  back  of  the  house  and  come  to 
one  of  the  dramatic  sudden  stops,  on  the  verge  of  an 
accident,  for  which  he  is  famous.  So  he  did,  but  not 
on  the  driveway ! 

The  Thing  gave  a  lurch  and  veered  toward  the 
barn,  spitting  like  a  cageful  of  tiger  cats.  Somers 
was  pushing  the  lever  and  gripping  the  brake  with 
all  his  athletic  might,  but  to  no  purpose.  The  chil- 
dren, who,  wild  with  excitement,  had  by  this  time 
sought  the  safety  of  the  open  barn  door,  seemed  a 
second  time  to  be  in  the  monster's  path. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL     243 

Another  lurch !  Surely  man  and  machine  would 
be  dashed  to  bits  against  the  substantial  stable  wall ! 

Then  the  Thing  changed  its  course,  and  showing 
a  ray  of  flustered  intelligence,  made  a  mighty  leap  off 
the  bank  wall  and  landed  hub  deep  in  the  soft,  friable 
soil  of  the  new  strawberry  bed,  where,  after  one  con- 
vulsive effort,  some  part  of  its  anatomy  blew  up  with 
the  triple  report  of  a  rapid-fire  gun,  and  after  having 
relieved  itself  of  a  cloud  of  steam,  it  settled  down 
peacefully,  as  if  a  strawberry  bed  was  the  place  of 
all  others  it  preferred  for  a  noonday  nap. 

Harvey  Somers  was  shot  with  a  left-handed  twirl 
directly  into  one  of  the  hotbed  frames,  from  which 
the  sash  was  pushed  back,  and  landed  in  a  doubled- 
up  position,  amid  a  tearing  sound  and  the  crash  of 
broken  glass.  Meanwhile,  the  boys,  frightened  at 
the  cloud  of  steam,  yelled  "  Fire !  "  at  the  top  of 
their  lungs. 

As  I  flew  to  help  him,  I  could  for  the  instant 
think  of  nothing  but  the  Lizard  Bill's  assisted  prog- 
ress up  the  chimney  and  into  the  cucumber  frame, 
but  as  a  rather  faint  voice  said,  "  Not  you ;  kindly 
call  the  Doctor,"  my  mirth  changed  to  alarm,  which 
was  not  lessened  when  Timothy  Saunders,  hearing 
the  uproar  and  the  cry  of  fire,  arriving  too  late  to 
grasp  the  situation  with  his  slow  Scotch  brain,  and 


244     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

seeing  me  leaning  over  the  plant  frame,  picked  up 
the  squirt  and  deluged  the  unfortunate  man  with 
whale-oil  spray ! 

Coughing  and  choking,  Mr.  Somers  finally  sat  up, 
but  did  not  offer  to  do  more,  wiped  his  eyes,  and 
said  to  me  in  most  delightful  and  courteous  tones, 
"Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  allow  your  man  to 
bring  me  either  a  bath  robe  or  a  mackintosh  ? " 

I  was  at  once  relieved,  for  I  knew  that  the  lacera- 
tions were  of  trousers  and  not  flesh,  and  at  the  same 
time  I  saw  that  the  crash  of  glass  was  caused  merely 
by  the  toppling  backward  of  the  sash,  also  that  all 
my  young  heliotrope  plants  that  were  in  the  frame 
where  the  chauffeur  reposed  were  hopelessly  ruined. 

Timothy  brought  out  Evan's  bath  gown,  and  in 
a  few  moments  Mr.  Somers  was  himself  again, 
and  after  surveying  the  scene  of  the  disaster,  he 
approached  me  with  a  charming  bow,  and  drawing 
a  crumpled  note  from  his  pocket  said :  — 

"  I  promised  Bertie  Chatterton  to  give  you  this 
invitation  for  his  studio  tea  to-morrow,  in  person,  and 
I  fear  that  I  have  rather  overshot  my  promise.  Best 
way  to  get  that  brute  up  will  be  from  the  bank  wall, 
—  will  damage  your  fruit  less.  I  will  have  a  derrick 
sent  up  to-morrow,  or  if  possible  this  afternoon. 
I'm  awfully  sorry,  Mrs.  Evan,  but  I  think  you'll  bear 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     245 

me  witness  that  the  accident  was  quite  out  of  my 
control.  Ma)'  I  beg  the  favour  of  a  trap  home  ? 
I'm  a  trifle  shaken  up,  that's  all."  And  as  if  the 
accident  were  an  everyday  affair,  he  departed  with- 
out fuss  and  having  steadied  my  nerves  by  his  entire 
self-control. 

As  I  stood  by  the  gateway  pondering  upon  the 
matter  and  the  easy  manners  of  this  Whirlpooler, 
Mrs.  Jenks-Smith  drove  past.  She  had  met  Mr. 
Somers,  and  as  her  curiosity  was  piqued  by  his 
strange  attire,  she  stopped  to  see  if  I  could  furnish 
a  clew.  She  says,  by  the  way,  that  he  is  not  a  New 
Yorker,  but  from  Boston,  and  that  his  father  is  an 
English  Honourable  and  his  mother  a  Frenchwoman. 

A  gang  of  men  with  a  sort  of  wrecking  machine 
hired  from  the  railroad  company  removed  the  Thing 
next  day,  and  towed  it  off,  but  of  course  the  straw- 
berries were  half  ruined ;  next  a  man  from  the 
florist's  in  town  came  with  directions  to  repair  all 
damage  to  turf  and  replace  the  smashed  plants.  Yet 
that  is  not  all  —  the  sense  of  peace  and  protection  that 
I  had  when  working  in  my  garden  has  had  a  shock. 
In  spite  of  the  inhospitable  air  it  gives  the  place,  I 
think  we  must  keep  the  gates  closed. 

Why  was  Jenks-Smith  inspired  to  start  a  land- 
boom  here  and  fate  allowed  to  make  fashion  smile  on 


246    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

it,  when  we  were  so  uneventfully  happy,  so  twinfully 
content  ? 


Martin  Cortright  arrived  on  Wednesday,  and  is 
safely  ensconced  with  Martha  and  Timothy  Saunders, 
who  could  give  him  the  couple  of  plainly  furnished 
rooms  he  desired,  and  breakfast  at  any  hour.  For 
a  man  of  no  hours  (which  usually  means  he  never 
breakfasts  before  nine)  to  forgather  cheerfully  at  a 
commuter's  table  at  7:15  A.M.  is  a  trial  to  him,  and  a 
second  breakfast  is  apt  to  cause  a  cloud  in  Madam 
C.'s  domestic  horizon.  Therefore,  father  allowed 
Martin  to  do  as  he  suggested,  live  at  the  farm  cot- 
tage and  work  here  in  the  library  or  attic  den,  as 
suits  his  convenience.  In  this  way  he  feels  quite 
independent,  has  motive  for  exercise  in  walking  to 
and  fro,  and  as  he  is  always  welcome  to  dine  with  us, 
can  mix  his  portion  of  solitude  and  society  in  the 
exact  proportion  of  his  taste,  even  as  his  well-shaped 
fingers  carefully  blend  the  tobacco  for  his  outdoor 
pipe. 

Dear  old  fellow,  he  seems  so  happy  and  bubbling 
over  with  good  temper  at  having  overstepped  the 
tyranny  of  habit,  that  I  shall  almost  expect  to  see  his 
gray  hairs  turn  brown  again  as  the  wintry  pelt  of  the 
weasel  does  in  spring. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     247 

If  the  Vanderveer  boy  is  diagnosed  as  a  case  of 
"  suppressed  boyhood,"  then  Martin  Cortright's  only 
ailment  should  be  dubbed  "  suppressed  youth !  " 

He  was  to  have  come  earlier  in  the  month,  but 
a  singular  circumstance  prevented.  The  old-time 
gentlewoman,  at  whose  house  in  Irving  Place  he  has 
had  his  apartments  so  long  that  a  change  seemed 
impossible,  died,  and  he  was  obliged  not  only  to 
move,  but  put  his  precious  belongings  in  storage 
until  he  can  place  himself  suitably  once  more.  So 
that  his  plan  of  coming  here  bridges  the  break,  and 
seems  quite  providential. 

He  and  father  walk  up  and  down  the  garden 
together  after  dinner,  smoking  and  chatting,  and  it 
does  me  good  to  see  dear  daddy  with  one  of  his  old- 
time  friends.  I  think  I  am  only  now  realizing  what 
he,  with  his  sociable  disposition,  gave  up  in  all  those 
years  before  Evan  came,  that  I  should  not  be  alone, 
and  that  he  might  be  all  in  all  to  me. 

It  was  quite  cool  yesterday.  We  had  hearth  fires 
all  through  the  house,  and  Martin,  rearranging  some 
reference  books  for  his  own  convenience  in  the 
little  room  that  is  an  annex  to  father's  library,  wore 
his  skull  cap  and  Chinese  silk  dressing  gown,  which 
gave  him  an  antique  air  quite  at  variance  with  his 
clear  skin  and  eyes. 


248     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Lavinia  Dorman  had  been  due  all  the  week,  but 
worry  with  the  workmen  who  are  building  in  the  rear 
of  her  house  detained  her,  and  she  telegraphed  me 
that  she  would  take  the  morning  express,  and  asked 
me  to  meet  her  over  in  town.  So  I  drove  in  myself, 
dropping  father  at  the  hospital  on  the  way,  but 
on  reaching  the  station  the  train  brought  me  no 
passenger. 

I  returned  home,  hoping  to  be  in  time  for  our 
way  train,  thinking  I  had  mistaken  her  message,  and 
missed  it ;  but  the  postmistress,  —  for  every  strange 
face  is  noticed  in  town,  —  told  me  that  the  lady  who 
visited  me  two  weeks  ago  walked  up  from  the  ten 
o'clock  train ;  that  she  had  a  new  bonnet  and  "  moved 
right  spry,"  and  asked  if  she  was  a  relative  of  mine. 
"  An  aunt,  maybe,  and  was  the  pleasant  new  gentle- 
man an  uncle,  and  did  he  write  a  newspaper  ?  She 
thought  maybe  he  did  because  he  was  so  particular 
about  his  mail."  I  said  something  about  their  being 
adopted  relations,  and  hurried  home. 

The  boys  were  industriously  digging  dandelions  on 
the  side  lawn.  I  inconsistently  let  the  dear,  cheery 
flowers  grow  and  bloom  their  fill  in  the  early  season, 
when  they  lie  close  to  the  sward,  but  when  they  begin 
to  stretch  awkward,  rubbery  necks,  and  gape  about  as 
if  to  see  where  they  might  best  shake  out  their  seed 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     249 

puffs,  they  must  be  routed.  Do  it  as  thoroughly  as 
possible,  enough  always  remain  to  repay  my  cruelty 
with  a  shower  of  golden  coin  the  next  spring.  Bertel 
spends  all  his  spare  time  on  the  other  bits  of  grass, 
but  the  side  lawn  is  the  boys'  plunder,  where,  by 
patiently  working  each  day  at  grubbing  out  the  roots 
at  twenty-five  cents  a  hundred,  they  expect,  before 
the  dandelion  season  is  over,  to  amass  wealth  enough 
to  buy  an  alluring  red  goat  harness  trimmed  with  bells 
that  is  on  exhibition  at  the  harness  shop  in  town,  for 
Corney  Delaney.  Yes,  they  said,  Aunt  Lavinia  had 
just  come,  but  she  said  they  need  not  stop,  for  she 
could  go  in  by  herself. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  hall,  sitting  room,  den,  or 
upstairs,  neither  had  Effie  seen  any  person  enter. 
Thinking  I  heard  voices  in  the  direction  of  father's 
office,  I  went  there  and  through  to  the  library  "annex," 
where  an  unexpected  picture  met  my  gaze.  Martin 
Cortright,  the  precise,  in  stocking  feet,  skull  cap,  and 
dressing  gown,  perched  on  top  of  the  step-ladder,  was 
clutching  a  book  in  one  hand,  within  the  other  he  held 
Miss  Lavinia's  slender  fingers  in  greeting,  while  his 
face  had  a  curious  expression  of  surprise,  pleasure, 
and  a  wild  desire  to  regain  his  slippers  that  were  down 
on  the  floor,  a  combination  that  made  him  look  ex- 
tremely foolish  as  well  as  "  pudgy." 


250    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

Up  to  that  moment,  Miss  Lavinia,  who  cannot  dis- 
tinguish a  face  three  feet  away  without  her  lorgnette, 
thought  she  was  speaking  to  father.  Under  cover 
of  our  mutual  hilarity,  I  led  her  back  to  a  seat  in  the 
study,  so  that  Martin  might  recover  his  wits,  coat, 
and  slippers  at  the  same  time,  for  Miss  Lavinia  had 
stumbled  over  the  latter  and  sent  them  coasting  in 
different  directions. 

Yes,  the  postmistress  was  right,  Lavinia  Dorman 
had  a  new  bonnet.  Not  the  customary  conservative 
but  monotonous  upholstered  affair  of  jet  and  lace,  but 
a  handful  of  pink  roses  in  a  tulle  nest,  held  on  by 
wisps  of  tulle  instead  of  ribbons. 

"  Hortense,  who  has  made  bonnets  for  years,  said 
this  was  more  appropriate  for  the  country,  and  would 
show  dirt  less  than  black,  —  and  even  went  so  far  as 
to  suggest  omitting  the  strings  altogether,"  she  said  in 
rather  flurried  tones,  as  a  few  moments  later  we  went 
upstairs,  and  I  removed  the  pins  that  held  the  confec- 
tion in  place,  and  commented  upon  its  prettiness. 

******* 

Martin  Cortright  stayed  to  dinner,  and  afterward 
he,  Miss  Lavinia,  father,  and  Evan  sat  down  to  a 
"real  old-fashioned,"  serious  game  of  whist!  Of  all 
things,  to  the  fifth  wheel,  who  is  out  of  it,  would  not  be 
in  if  she  could,  cannot  learn,  and  prefers  jackstraws 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     251 

to  card  games  of  any  sort,  an  evening  of  serious 
whist  is  the  most  aggravating.  They  were  too  well 
matched  to  even  enliven  matters  by  squabbling  or 
casting  venomous  glances  at  each  other.  Evan  played 
with  Martin  Cortright,  whose  system  he  was  absorbed 
in  mastering,  and  he  never  spoke  a  word,  and  barely 
looked  up.  This,  too,  when  he  had  been  away  for 
several  days  on  a  business  trip.  It  was  moonlight, 
and  I  wanted  him  to  see  the  new  iris  that  were  in 
bloom  along  the  wild  walk,  dilate  upon  the  game  of 
leap-frog  that  the  automobile  played,  and  —  well 
— there  is  a  great  deal  to  say  when  Evan  has  been 
away  that  cannot  be  thought  of  indoors  or  be  spoken 
hurriedly  in  the  concise,  compact,  public  terms  in 
which  one  orders  a  meal.  Conversation  is  only  in 
part  made  of  words,  its  subtilties  are  largely  com- 
posed of  touch  and  silence. 

I  myself,  being  wholly  responsible  for  the  present 
whist  combination,  of  course  could  say  nothing 
except  to  myself  and  the  moon.  What  a  hoard  of 
personal  reminiscences  and  heart  to  heart  confessions 
the  simpering  old  thing  must  have  stored  away  behind 
her  placid  countenance.  It  is  a  wonder  that  no 
enterprising  journal  has  syndicated  her  memoirs  by 
wireless  telegraphy  for  the  exclusive  use  of  their 
Sunday  issue. 


252     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

I  resolved  that  I  must  wait  awhile,  and  then  if  this 
silence  lasted  many  evenings,  I  must  hunt  up  a  game 
of  cards  that  takes  only  two.  How  could  I  get  out 
of  the  room  without  appearing  to  be  in  a  huff  or 
bored?  Ah!  a  wordless  excuse;  a  slight  noise 
upstairs.  Ian  sometimes  walks  in  his  sleep.  I  go 
up  and  sit  in  my  window  and  look  out  through  the 
diamond  panes  at  the  garden.  Ian  stirs  and  mutters 
something  about  a  drink.  I  hasten  to  get  it,  and  he, 
gripping  the  glass  with  his  teeth,  swallows  eagerly, 
with  a  clicking  noise  in  his  throat. 

"  Is  your  throat  sore  ?"  I  ask  apprehensively.  He 
opens  his  eyes,  realizes  where  he  is,  nestles  his  head 
into  my  neck  and  whispers,  — 

"  Not  zactly  lumpy  sore,  Barbara,  just  crusty,  'cause 
I  made — lots  of  dandelion  curls  wif  my  tongue  to-day, 
and  they're — velly  —  sour,"  and  with  a  satisfied  yawn 
he  rolled  back  on  his  pillow,  into  the  funny  spread- 
eagle  attitude  peculiar  to  himself,  but  Richard  slept 
peacefully  on  like  a  picture  child,  cheek  on  hand,  and 
the  other  little  dandelion-stained  paw  above  the  sheet. 

(N.B.  —  When  one's  husband  and  father  together  take  to 
serious  whist  of  a  moonlight  night  in  spring,  twins  are  not  only 
an  advantage  but  a  necessity.) 

I  have  searched  the  encyclopedia  for  the  description 
of  an  intellectual  game  of  cards,  arranged  as  a  duet, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     253 

and  found  one.  It  is  piquet !  Now  I  can  wait  devel- 
opments peacefully,  for  are  there  not  also  in  reserve 
chess,  checkers,  backgammon,  and  —  jackstraws  ? 

******* 

June  2.  A  gentle  summer  shower  at  sunset  after 
a  perfect  day  has  filled  the  world  with  fragrance  and 
song,  for  do  the  birds  ever  sing  so  perfectly  with  such 
serene  full-noted  ecstasy  as  after  the  rains  of  May 
and  June  ?  Or  is  it  the  clearness  of  the  air  after  the 
rain  that  transmits  each  note  in  full,  prisoning  nothing 
of  its  value  ? 

To-night  I  am  unhappy.  Perhaps  that  is  an  ex- 
aggeration, and  perplexed  is  the  better  word,  and  it 
is  only  in  pages  of  my  social  experience  book  that 
the  cause  can  be  given. 

Friday  was  Peysey  Vanderveer's  eighth  birthday, 
and  it  has  been  celebrated  by  a  party  on  a  scale  of 
magnificence  that  to  my  mind  would  have  been 
suitable  for  the  only  son  of  royalty. 

Though  the  invitations  fortunately  were  only  given 
two  days  in  advance,  Richard  and  Ian  were  agog 
over  the  matter  to  the  extent  of  muttering  in  their 
sleep,  and  getting  up  this  morning  before  eight,  in 
order,  if  possible,  to  make  the  hour  of  three  come 
quicker,  and  to  be  sure  to  be  ready  in  time. 

When  the  invitation  was  brought  by  Mr.  Vander- 


254    THE  PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

veer  in  person,  he  asked  if  Lavinia  Dorman  and  I 
would  not  like  to  come  up  also  and  see  the  children 
play,  adding  that  I  need  feel  no  responsibility  about 
the  boys,  as  he  was  going  to  be  at  home  and  give 
himself  up  to  seeing  that  the  "  kids  "  had  a  jolly  time, 
and  got  into  no  scrapes. 

We  agreed  that  it  would  be  amusing  to  go  up  with 
the  children,  stay  a  little  while  to  be  sure  that  they 
could  adapt  themselves,  and  then  leave ;  for  if  there 
is  anything  dampening  to  the  ardour  of  children  at 
play  it  is  a  group  of  elders  with  minds  divided  be- 
tween admiration  and  correction,  punctuating  unwise 
remarks  upon  beauty  and  cleverness  with  "Maud, 
you  are  overheated."  "Tommy,  don't!  Use  your 
handkerchief  !  "  "  Billy,  your  stocking  is  coming 
down  !  "  "  Reggie,  you  must  wait,  girls  should  be 
helped  first." 

The  boys  certainly  looked  comfortably  and  humanly 
handsome  in  their  white  cheviot  sailor  suits,  loose  blue 
ties,  black  stockings  and  pumps.  They  really  are 
good-looking  children.  Lavinia  Dorman,  who  is 
candour  itself,  says  so.  I  suppose  people  think  that 
my  opinion  does  not  count,  and  that  I  should  consider 
them  perfect  if  they  were  of  the  human  chipmunk 
variety.  But  I  am  sure  I  am  not  prejudiced,  for  I  do 
not  think  them  perfect,  only  well  made  and  promising, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     255 

thus  having  the  two  first  requisites  of  all  young 
animals. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  Vanderveers  a  little  late, 
owing  to  the  fact  of  father's  having  been  obliged 
to  use  our  horse  for  a  hurry  call,  the  party  had 
"  gathered,"  to  use  an  old-fashioned  expression,  and 
I  saw  that  Richard  and  Ian  were  by  several  years  the 
youngest  of  the  group  of  thirty  or  more,  the  others 
ranging  from  eight  to  thirteen  or  fourteen. 

The  house  and  grounds  were  decorated  wherever 
decoration  was  possible.  Though  it  was  wholly  a 
daylight  affair,  Japanese  lanterns  hung  by  festoons  of 
handsome  ribbon  from  verandas,  trees,  and  around 
the  new  pergola,  the  marble  columns  of  which,  in  the 
absence  of  vines,  were  wound  with  ribbons  and  roofed 
with  bright  flags,  to  form  a  tent  for  the  collation.  In 
an  arbour  decorated  in  a  like  manner,  an  Hungarian 
orchestra  in  uniform,  much  in  vogue,  Miss  Lavinia 
says,  for  New  York  dinner  dances,  was  playing  rag- 
time, while  a  dozen  smart  traps  and  road  carts  filled 
with  exquisitely  dressed  women  lining  the  driveway 
around  the  sunken  tennis  court,  indicated  that  a 
matched  game  was  to  take  place. 

Yes,  after  every  one  had  exchanged  greetings, 
Miss  Lavinia,  meeting  several  friends  who  not  only 
treated  her  with  something  akin  to  homage,  but  were 


256     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

unfeignedly  pleased  to  see  her,  the  guests  divided,  a 
dozen  of  the  elder  girls  and  boys  going  toward  the 
tennis  court,  where  Monty  Bell  seemed  to  be  acting 
as  general  manager.  I  afterward  discovered  that 
two  prizes  for  doubles  and  two  for  singles  were  to  be 
played  for,  not  pretty  trifles  suitable  for  children,  but 
jewellery,  belt  buckles  of  gold  and  silver,  gold  sleeve 
links,  and  a  loving  cup. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Vanderveer  took  charge  of  the 
younger  group  and  led  them  through  the  garden  to 
where  some  young  spruce  trees  hid  the  wall.  Here 
a  surprise  awaited  them  in  the  shape  of  two  of  the 
largest  of  the  growing  trees  festooned  with  ribbons 
and  laden  with  strange  fruit  in  the  shape  of  coloured 
toy  balloons  that  bobbed  about  and  tugged  at  their 
moorings  as  if  anxious  to  escape. 

On  each  balloon  a  number  was  painted  in  white. 
A  wide  ribbon  was  stretched  barrierwise  across  the 
walk  about  fifteen  feet  from  the  trees,  and  near  it 
were  several  large  baskets,  one  full  of  bows  and  dart- 
pointed  arrows,  and  the  other  heaped  with  expensive 
toys  and  bonbon  boxes  of  painted  satin,  for  prizes, 
each  article  being  numbered. 

"  Step  up,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Stand  in  line  by 
the  ribbon  and  take  your  turn  at  the  most  unique 
shooting  match  ever  seen  in  this  county,  —  one  at  a 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     257 

time, — and  whoever  points  the  arrow  at  anything  but 
the  balloons  is  ruled  out,"  rattled  Mr.  Vanderveer, 
after  the  manner  of  a  fakir  at  a  country  fair,  and 
beaming  with  pleasure.  For  Evan  says  that  outside 
of  business  dealings  he  has  the  reputation  of  being 
the  most  good-natured  and  generous  of  men,  and 
that  to  invent  ways  to  lavish  money  upon  his  son  and 
his  friends  is  almost  as  keen  a  pleasure  to  him  as  to 
promote  schemes  for  winning  it. 

Mr.  Vanderveer  picked  up  a  bow  and  dart  to  illus- 
trate the  game,  aimed  at  a  balloon,  the  arrow  glanced 
off,  but  at  the  second  shot  the  balloon  went  pop  and 
shrivelled  away  with  the  whistle  of  escaping  gas  and 
shouts  of  applause  from  both  children  and  their  elders. 

Feeling  assured  that  my  boys  were  quite  at  their 
ease  and  not  likely  to  balk  and  act  like  wild  rabbits, 
as  is  sometimes  the  case  with  children  when  they 
find  themselves  among  strangers,  and  seeing  nothing 
that  they  would  be  likely  to  fall  out  of  or  into,  except 
a  great  bowl  of  lemonade  arranged  in  a  bower  that 
represented  a  well,  we  came  away,  Lavinia  Dorman 
sniffing  in  the  spectacle  like  a  veteran  war-horse 
scenting  powder,  and  enjoying  the  gayety,  as  I  my- 
self should  have  done  heartily  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  boys. 

I  was  not  worried  about  their  clothes,  their  taking 


258     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

cold,  or  sticking  the  darts  into  their  fingers,  but  I 
was  beginning  to  realize  the  responsibility  of  conse- 
quences. What  would  the  effect  of  this  fete  be  upon 
the  birthday  parties  of  our  village  community,  where 
a  dish  of  mottoes,  a  home-made  frosted  sponge  cake, 
and  a  freezer  of  ice  cream  (possibly,  but  not  always) 
from  town,  eaten  out-of-doors,  meant  bliss. 

I  suppose  it  is  only  the  comfortably  poor  who  have 
to  think  of  consequences,  the  uncomfortably  rich 
think  they  can  afford  not  to,  and  tired  of  mere  pos- 
session, they  must  express  their  wealth  audibly  at 

any  cost. 

******* 

Richard  and  Ian  came  home  about  half  past  six, 
driven  by  Timothy  Saunders,  who  was  in  a  sulky 
mood.  When  I  asked  him,  by  way  of  cheerful  con- 
versation, if  the  Vanderveer  grounds  did  not  look 
pretty,  and  if  he  had  heard  the  band  (he  is  very  fond 
of  music),  he  fairly  glowered  at  me  as  he  used  in  his 
bachelor  days,  before  Martha's  energetic  affection 
had  mellowed  him,  and  he  began  to  jerk  out  texts,  his 
dialect  growing  more  impossible  each  moment,  so  that 
the  only  words  that  I  caught  were  "  scarlet  weemen 
—  Philistines  —  wrath  —  mammon  o'  the  unriteous," 
etc.,  until  I  seized  the  boys  and  fled  into  the  porch, 
because  when  Timothy  Saunders  is  wrathful,  and 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     259 

quotes  scripture  as  a  means  of  expressing  it,  some 
one  must  fly,  and  it  is  never  Timothy. 

The  boys,  however,  were  jubilant,  and  began  at 
once  to  unwrap  the  various  bundles  they  were  hug- 
ging, prizes,  it  seemed,  for  every  game  they  played, 
that  represented  enough  plunder  to  deck  a  small 
Christmas  tree.  After  these  had  been  duly  admired, 
with  some  misgivings  on  my  part,  Ian  jumped  up 
suddenly,  clapping  his  hand  to  his  pocket,  and  coming 
close,  so  that  he  could  rest  upon  my  knee,  he  began 
pulling  out  shining  new  dimes  and  quarters,  until 
his  hands,  moist  and  trembling  with  excitement,  could 
hold  no  more,  and  he  poured  the  coins  into  my  lap. 

"  Count  them  please,  Barbara,  vely  quick,  'cause  I 
can't  say  so  many,"  he  begged,  standing  with  his 
curly  head  a  little  on  one  side,  and  his  eyes  flashing 
with  eagerness. 

Wondering  what  new  form  of  extravagance  it  was, 
I  counted,  "  One,  two,  three  dollars  and  a  half." 

"Then  we  can  go  and  buy  the  red  harness  for 
Corney  to-morrow,  without  bothering  to  dig  up  any 
more  dandies,  'cause  Dick's  got  some  too,"  he  fairly 
shouted.  "  It  was  all  bully  fun,  but  that  swizzle  game 
where  the  marble  ran  round  was  the  bestest  of  all, 
only  some  numbers  it  sat  on  took  the  pennies  and 
some  gave  them  back,"  and  he  indicated  something 


260    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

flying  round  in  a  circle  as  he  capered  about  lan's 
slightest  gestures,  like  his  father's,  are  very  realistic, 
and  I  turned  sick  as  I  realized  the  game  by  which 
the  silver  had  been  won  was  probably  roulette ! 
Could  it  be  possible  ?  How  had  Mr.  Vanderveer 
dared  ?  No,  there  must  be  some  mistake. 

At  that  instant  my  attention  was  attracted  by 
Richard,  who,  after  unpacking  his  toys,  had  curled 
up  in  a  deep  piazza  chair,  where  he  sat  without  say- 
ing a  word,  but  looking  flushed  and  heavy-eyed. 

"  Do  you  feel  sick  ?  Perhaps  you  ate  too  much 
cream,  and  then  ran  too  fast.  Come  and  let  mother 
feel  of  your  hands,"  I  said.  His  hands  were  cold 
and  his  head  burning. 

"  It  wasn't  the  cweam,"  he  replied  finally,  as  if  not 
quite  sure  what  was  the  matter,  "  it  was  the  lemon- 
ade with  the  bitter  currant  jelly  in  it  that  made  the 
cweam  and  all  swell  up,  —  and  I  guess  it's  going  to 
spill  pretty  soon." 

"  Lemonade  with  bitter  jelly  in  it  ? "  queried  father, 
coming  out,  "what  sort  of  a  mess  have  they  given 
him  ? "  Father  stooped,  smelled  his  breath,  saying, 
"  Astringent  wine  of  some  sort,  unless  my  nose  fails 
me.  Did  you  have  any,  Ian  ?  " 

"  Not  pink,  only  yellow.     I  was  all  full  up  by  then." 

"When?" 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     261 

"  Why,  when  the  big  boys  caught  some  of  us  and 
said  we  must  drink  pink  lemonade  to  make  us  grow 
quick." 

Father  gave  me  a  keen  glance  of  intelligence,  and 
I  took  the  boys  upstairs,  where  Richard's  trouble 
soon  righted  itself,  and,  early  as  it  was,  they  went 
quickly  to  sleep  with  the  precious  money  under  their 
pillows,  fatigue  conquering  even  their  excitement. 

Evan  came  home  rather  late,  and  at  dinner  we 
talked  of  other  things.  As  far  back  as  I  remember 
anything,  I  can  hear  father's  voice  saying  alike  to 
Aunt  Lot,  myself,  or  a  complaining  servant,  "The 
family  board  is  sacred;  meals  are  not  the  time  for 
disagreeables." 

Immediately  after  dinner,  and  before  I  had  a  chance 
to  tell  Evan,  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith  stopped  on  her  way 
home  from  a  drive,  the  Whirlpoolers  not  dining  until 
eight,  to  ask  father  if  she  might  take  some  friends  in 
to  see  the  hospital  to-morrow,  an  appeal  having  been 
recently  made  for  new  bedding,  etc.,  saying :  "  We're 
going  to  have  smashing  strawberries  and  roses  this 
year ;  they'll  come  on  before  the  crowd  moves  along  in 
July,  and  we  might  as  well  shake  up  a  fete  for  the  hos- 
pital as  anything  else,  as  we're  bound  to  keep  moving. 

"  Were  you  up  at  Vanderveers  this  afternoon  ?  Oh, 
yes,  to  be  sure,  I  saw  you  going  down  hill  as  I  drove 


262     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

in.  Quite  a  chic  affair  for  a  little  between-season 
place  like  this ;  but  after  all,  it's  the  people,  not  the 
place,  that  make  the  pace,  isn't  it,  Miss  Dorman  ? 
And  a  swell  New  Yorker  can  leave  a  wake  that'll 
show  the  way  anywhere. 

"  You  don't  look  happy,  though,  Mrs.  Evan.  The 
boys  ate  too  much  ?  No  ?  Roulette  a  little  too  high 
for  you  ? 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  half  agree  with  you.  I  think 
things  were  a  little  too  stiff  this  afternoon  for  such 
youngsters ;  but  Vandy  is  such  a  liberal  fellow  he 
couldn't  do  enough,  —  nor  tell  when  to  stop,  —  actu- 
ally lugged  up  half  a  dozen  bags  of  new  silver  and 
dealt  it  to  the  kids  in  handfuls.  Harm  ?  Why,  he 
didn't  see  any,  I  dare  say.  He  wasn't  robbing  any- 
body ;  besides,  I'll  bet  Monty  Bell  put  him  up  to  it. 
I  know  how  you  feel,  though.  I  wouldn't  play  for 
money  myself,  if  I'd  young  boys;  but  as  I  haven't,  it 
doesn't  matter,  and  one  must  be  amused.  That's  the 
way  Mrs.  Latham  jogged  poor  Carthy  off  and  began 
the  gap  with  her  husband.  Latham  gambles  on 
change,  of  course,  but  drew  the  line  at  his  house. 
Didn't  know  it  ?  You  poor  innocent,  you're  as  bad 
as  Sylvia  herself.  Why,  yes,  they're  as  good  as 
divorced,  by  mutual  agreement,  though;  he's  kept 
away  all  of  two  years.  I  expect  that  they  will  an- 
nounce it  any  time  now. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     263 

"  Won't  let  the  boys  keep  the  money  ?  Don't  be 
silly  now  and  make  a  fuss;  change  it  to  bills  and 
put  it  on  the  church  plate ;  that's  what  all  the  really 
conscientious  women  always  do  with  their  Lenten 
winnings  anyway,  —  that  is,  when  they  can  afford  it. 

"  I'll  allow,  though,  they  didn't  manage  the  drinks 
well  this  afternoon.  The  lemonade  was  for  the 
youngsters,  and  their  spread  was  in  the  pergola; 
the  next  age  had  claret  cup  in  the  tea  house  back 
of  the  tennis  court,  and  there  was  also  a  spread 
there  with  champagne  cup  for  the  elders. 

"  Claret  cup  ?  Oh,  yes,  nowadays  you  insult  a  boy 
over  twelve  if  you  offer  him  lemonade.  But  the 
trouble  was,  the  big  boys  tumbled  to  the  champagne 
cup,  got  hold  of  a  bowl  of  it,  grew  excited,  and  fed 
the  youngsters  with  the  claret  stuff,  and  made  a  lot  of 
them  sick.  Your  Richard  one  of  them  ?  I  see,  —  I 
don't  wonder  you're  put  out,  my  dear,  indeed  I  don't. 
I  should  be  too,  that  is,  if  it  mattered ;  but  one  per- 
son disapproving  won't  turn  the  wheel  the  other  way, 
it  only  means  to  lose  your  own  footing."  So  saying, 
the  Lady  of  the  Bluffs  rustled  away,  promising  to 
call  for  father  in  her  'bus  in  the  morning. 

"  Is  this  true  ? "  asked  Evan,  presently,  and  I  had 
never  seen  his  eyes  look  so  steely  cold. 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  so,"  I  answered,  meeting  his  gaze. 


264     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"Where  is  the  money?" 

"  Under  their  pillows ;  they  expect  to  buy  the  red 
goat  harness  to-morrow." 

"  It's  a  crying  shame,  the  whole  thing.  The  poor 
little  babies ! " 

"What  shall  I  do?" 

"  You  ?  Nothing.  I  shall  return  the  money.  This 
is  my  business ;  man  to  man.  As  a  woman  you  in- 
evitably must  be  emotional  and  make  a  doubtful  issue 
of  it.  You  mother  the  boys  well,  God  knows  ;  this  is 
my  chance  to  father  them." 

"  But  the  money,  —  shall  I  get  it  now  ? " 

"  No,  in  the  morning ;  they  will  bring  it  to  me,  and 
I  will  make  them  understand,  as  far  as  babies  may. 
In  one  way,  I  fear,  we  are  unwittingly  somewhat  to 
blame  ourselves.  Every  one  who  is  drawn  toward  a 
social  and  financial  class  a  little  beyond  his  depth, 
and  yields,  though  feeling  the  danger,  is  unwise.  I 
think,  sweetheart,  this  commuter,  his  wife,  and  babies 
had  better  be  content  to  wade  in  safe  shallows  and 
not  go  within  touch  of  the  Whirlpool  current." 

Then  Evan  and  I  went  and  stood  silently  by  the 
two  white  beds,  and  now  he  is  walking  up  and  down 
in  the  garden  smoking  quietly,  while  I  am  writing  up 
here,  and  unhappy  because  I  think  of  to-morrow  and 
the  boys'  disappointment  about  the  little  red  harness. 


XI 

REARRANGED   FAMILIES 

June  10.  Sylvia  Latham  has  returned  alone. 
Her  father  came  with  her  as  far  as  Chicago,  where, 
having  business  that  would  detain  him  for  perhaps 
ten  days,  and  warm  weather  having  set  in,  he  insisted 
that  Sylvia  should  at  once  proceed  eastward.  At 
least  that  is  what  Miss  Lavinia  tells  me;  but  she 
has  suddenly  turned  quite  reticent  in  everything  that 
concerns  the  Lathams,  which,  together  with  Mrs. 
Jenks-Smith's  random  remarks,  have  inevitably  set 
me  to  thinking. 

I  had  hoped  to  form  a  pleasant  friendship  with 
Sylvia,  for  though  I  have  only  met  her  two  or  three 
times,  I  feel  as  if  I  really  knew  her ;  but  there  will  be 
little  chance  now,  as  they  go  on  to  Newport  the  first 
of  July,  and  the  continual  procession  of  house  parties, 
for  golf,  tennis,  etc.,  at  the  Bluffs,  even  though  they 
are  called  informal,  necessarily  stand  in  the  way  of 
intimate  neighbourly  relations  between  us.  Monty 
Bell  has  been  dividing  his  week  ends  between  the 
Ponsonby,  Vanderveer,  and  Jenks-Smith  households, 

265 


266    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

yet  he  always  is  in  the  foreground  when  I  have  been 
to  see  Sylvia,  even  though  I  have  tried  to  slip  in 
between  times  in  the  morning. 

I  do  not  like  this  Monty  Bell;  he  seems  to  be 
merely  an  eater  of  dinners  and  a  cajoler  of  dames, 
such  superficial  chivalry  of  speech  as  he  exhibits 
being  only  one  of  the  many  expedients  that  gain  him 
the  title  of  "  socially  indispensable"  that  the  Whirl- 
poolers  accord  him. 

Personally  anything  but  attractive,  he  seems 
able  to  organize  and  control  others  in  a  most  singular 
way.  Perhaps  it  is  because  he  has  a  genius  for 
taking  pains  and  planning  successful  entertainments 
for  his  friends,  even  to  the  minutest  detail,  and 
giving  them  the  subtle  distinction  of  both  origi- 
nality and  finish,  without  troubling  their  givers 
to  think  for  themselves.  Miss  Lavinia  says  that 
he  has  the  entree  of  the  two  or  three  very 
exclusive  New  York  houses  that  have  never  yet 
opened  their  doors  to  Mrs.  Latham  and  several 
more  aspiring  Whirlpoolers,  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith  hav- 
ing penetrated  the  sacred  precincts,  only  by  right 
of  having  been  presented  at  the  English  Court  in 
the  last  reign  through  the  influence  of  her  step- 
daughter, who  married  a  poverty-stricken  title. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  all  amounts  to,"  said  the 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     267 

outspoken  Lady  of  the  Bluffs  on  her  return,  "  except 
that  I'm  in  it  now  with  both  feet,  which  is  little 
enough  pay  for  the  trouble  I  took  and  the  money 
Jenks-Smith  put  out. 

"  Our  son-in-law  ?  No,  he's  not  exactly  English, 
he's  Irish,  blood  of  the  old  kings,  they  say ;  but  all  the 
good  it  does  him  is,  that  he  can  wear  his  hat  wfth  a 
feather  in  it,  or  else  his  shoes,  I  can  never  remember 
which,  in  the  presence  of  royalty,  when  if  it  wasn't 
for  good  American  money  he'd  have  neither  one  or 
the  other. 

"  Money  ?  Oh  yes,  that's  all  they  want  of  us  over 
there ;  we've  no  cause  to  stick  up  our  noses  and  think 
it's  ourselves.  We  know,  Jenks-Smith  and  I,  for 
haven't  we  been  financial  mother  and  father  in  law 
to  a  pair  of  them  for  ten  years  ?  Jenks-Smith  was 
smart,  though ;  he  wouldn't  give  a  lump  sum  down, 
but  makes  them  an  allowance,  and  we  go  over  every 
year  or  so  and  bail  them  out  of  some  sort  of  a  mess 
to  boot,  have  the  plumbing  fixed  up,  and  start  the 
children  all  over  with  new  clothes.  That's  what  we're 
doing  when  the  papers  say,  '  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenks- 
Smith,  who  went  to  Carlsbad  for  the  waters,  are  now 
in  Ireland,  being  entertained  in  regal  style  by  their 
daughter  and  son-in-law  at  Bally-whack  House.'  " 


268     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Miss  Lavinia  says  with  a  shiver  that  whoever 
marries  Monty  Bell,  and  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for 
him  to  make  a  wealthy  connection  in  the  immediate 
future,  will  have  all  New  York  doors  open  to  her, 
and  that,  as  Mrs.  Latham  is  leaving  no  stone  unturned 
in  order  to  become  a  social  leader,  a  marriage  between 
Sylvia  and  Mr.  Bell  would  secure  her  the  complete 
prestige  necessary  to  her  ambition,  while  rearranged 
families  are  so  common  and  often  the  results  of  such 
trivial  causes,  that  the  fact  of  the  man's  having  a 
lovely  wife  and  two  children  living  abroad  does  not 
militate  against  him  in  the  least.  It  all  seems  ghastly, 
this  living  life  as  if  it  was  a  race  track,  where  to 
reach  the  social  goal  is  the  only  thought,  no  matter 
how,  or  over  or  through  what  wreckage,  or  in  what 
company  the  race  is  to  be  won. 

Since  her  return  Sylvia  has  looked  pale  and  seemed 
less  buoyant.  She  is  much  disappointed  because  her 
plan  of  going  to  Rockcliffe  to  see  her  class  graduate 
cannot  be  carried  out.  Miss  Lavinia  had  promised  to 
go  with  her,  and  the  poor  child  was  looking  forward 
to  a  week  of  girlish  pleasure  among  the  friends  with 
whom  she  had  spent  two  years,  when,  lo  and  behold ! 
the  rose  and  strawberry  festival,  that  the  Lady  of  the 
Bluffs  had  stirred  up  for  the  benefit  of  the  hospital, 
assumed  such  huge  proportions  that  the  entire  colony 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     269 

became  involved,  and  the  dates  conflicting,  it  was 
impossible  for  Sylvia  to  leave  home  without  entirely 
tipping  over  her  mother's  plans. 

The  places  on  the  north  side  of  the  Bluff  road  are 
to  be  thrown  open,  grand-chain  fashion,  each  contrib- 
uting something  by  way  of  entertainment,  games,  a 
merry-go-round  brought  with  great  expense  from  the 
city,  fortune  telling,  a  miniature  show  of  pet  animals, 
and  an  amateur  circus,  being  a  few  of  the  many 
attractions  offered. 

The  spectators  are  to  pay  a  fee  and  enter  by  the 
Ponsonbys',  the  first  place  on  the  south,  and  gradually 
work  their  way  up  to  the  Jenks-Smiths',  where  the 
rose  garden  and  an  elaborate  refreshment  booth  will 
be  reached.  The  Latham  garden  is  too  new  to  make 
any  showing,  but  Mrs.  Latham,  who  has  been  much 
in  New  York  of  late,  promises  something  novel  in  the 
way  of  a  tea  room  in  her  great  reception  hall,  while 
Mrs.  Jenks-Smith  insisted  that  Sylvia  should  have 
charge  of  her  rose  booth,  saying :  "  Your  name's 
suitable  for  the  business,  you'll  look  well  in  a  simple 
hat  and  baggy  mull  gown,  such  as  artists  always  want 
to  put  on  the  people  they  paint,  and  I  must  positively 
have  some  one  who'll  stay  by  me  and  see  that  things 
are  not  torn  to  bits,  for  all  the  rest  of  the  girls  will 
slide  off  with  the  first  pair  of  trousers  that  comes  along. 


2;o    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Anyway,  you  don't  match  the  little  Ponsonby  and  Chat- 
field  minxes  that  your  mother  has  chosen  for  her  six 
Geisha  girls,  for  you  are  a  head  taller  than  the  bunch." 

Nothing  is  talked  of  now  but  this  fete.  Of  course 
it  will  help  the  hospital,  even  though  ten  times  the 
amount  is  being  spent  upon  the  preparation  than  any 
sum  that  can  possibly  be  made  for  the  charity ;  but  it 
pleases  the  people  to  spend.  Father  says  that  the 
Whirlpoolers  are  already  bored ;  that  they  have  used 
up  the  place,  for  the  time  being,  and  if  it  were  not 
for  this  festival,  the  Bluffs  would  be  deserted  for 
Newport  and  Long  Island  long  before  July. 

Social  ambition  has  even  infected  our  rector's  jolly 
little  wife,  who  has  never  felt  able  or  called  upon  to 
entertain  in  any  but  the  most  informal  way.  After 
hearing  the  report  of  a  clerical  luncheon  in  New 
York,  where  the  clergyman  sat  at  the  foot  of  his  own 
table  with  a  miniature  shepherd's  crook  before  him, 
and  the  favour  beside  the  plate  of  each  female  guest 
consisted  of  a  woolly  lamb,  she,  not  to  be  outdone, 
immediately  imperilled  the  possibility  of  a  new  winter 
gown  by  inviting  all  the  non-resident  members  of  the 
congregation  to  lunch,  and  serving  the  icecream  in 
a  toy  Noah's  Ark,  while  the  animals  fr6Tm.it  were 
grouped  about  a  large  dish  of  water,  to  form  an 
appropriate  decoration  in  the  centre  of  the  table, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     271 

and  sugar  doves  at  each  plate  held  leaves  in  their 
mouths,  upon  which  the  name  of  the  guest  was 
neatly  pricked  with  a  pin. 

******* 

Lavinia  Dorman  has  decided  to  stay  with  me  and 
do  without  her  maid,  rather  than  take  a  cottage,  or 
board,  for  we  find  that  we  do  not  wear  on  each  other 
in  the  least.  We  never  plan  for  one  another,  or  inter- 
fere in  any  way,  and  each  takes  it  for  granted  that  if 
the  other  desires  assistance  of  any  sort,  she  will  ask 
for  it. 

Miss  Lavinia  pokes  about  the  garden  at  her  own 
sweet  will.  I  gather  the  flowers,  —  I  could  not  give 
that  up  to  any  one,  —  and  she  takes  charge  of 
arranging  them  in  the  house.  She  is  very  fond  of 
doing  fancy  work,  I  am  not,  so  that  her  offer  to 
re-cover  the  sofa  cushions  in  den,  study,  and  library 
comes  in  the  light  of  a  household  benefaction. 

Besides  this,  she  has  a  very  good  effect  upon  the 
boys,  and  without  being  at  all  fussy,  she  is  instilling 
their  absorbent  minds  quite  unconsciously  with  some 
little  bits  of  the  quaint  good  breeding  of  other  days 
that  they  will  never  forget  They  love  to  go  to  town 
with  her,  one  of  her  first  stipulations  being  that  if  I 
chose  to  include  her  in  some  of  our  long  drives,  well 
and  good,  otherwise  she  wished  the  liberty  of  tele- 


272     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

phoning  the  stable  for  horse  and  man,  whenever  she 
pleased,  without  my  troubling  myself  about  her 
movements. 

Meanwhile,  I  really  think  that  this  living  in  the 
midst  of  a  family  without  losing  her  independence 
is  making  Lavinia  Dorman  grow  backwards  toward 
youth.  She  has  bought  an  outing  hat  without 
strings,  trimmed  with  fluffy  white,  she  takes  her 
work  out  under  the  trees  in  a  basket,  and  has  given 
up  tying  her  head  in  a  thin  and  a  thick  veil  every 
time  she  drives  out.  If  she  could  learn  to  sit  com- 
fortably back  and  lounge  a  trifle,  and  if  a  friendly 
magpie  would  only  chance  along  and  steal  her  stock 
of  fronts,  for  a  nest,  so  that  she  would  be  obliged  to 
show  her  own  lovely  hair  that  shades  like  oxidized 
silver,  the  transformation  would  be  complete. 

Martin  Cortright  also  is  developing  mental  energy. 
He  always  had  considerable  physical  vim,  as  I  found 
the  Sunday  after  he  first  came,  when  he  accompanied 
Evan  upon  one  of  his  long  walks,  and  was  not  used 
up  by  it.  He  has  stopped  fumbling  with  reference 
books  and  shuffling  bits  of  paper  by  the  hour,  and 
writes  industriously  every  day  by  the  west  window  of 
the  attic,  where  he  can  refresh  himself  by  looking 
out  of  the  window  at  the  garden,  or  across  at  the 
passers  on  the  highway.  I  was  afraid  that  he  might 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     273 

wish  to  read  the  results  nightly  to  either  father  or 
Evan,  but  no,  he  keeps  them  safely  under  lock  and 
key  in  a  great  teacher's  desk  that  he  bought  second 
hand  over  in  town.  He  stays  to  dine  with  us  two  or 
three  nights  a  week,  but  he  has  grown  flexible,  and 
our  meals  are  very  merry  ones.  Laugh  softly  to 
yourself,  Experience  Book,  and  flutter  your  leaves 
just  a  bit  as  I  write,  that  of  their  own  volition,  Miss 
Lavinia  and  Martin  have  drifted  from  whist  to 
piquet,  as  by  natural  transition,  and  Evan  is  free 
for  garden  saunterings  once  more. 

******* 
June  25.      Yesterday  was  the  day  of  the  festival, 
and  it  was  neither  sultry,  foggy,  nor  brought  to  a 
sudden  stop  by  a  thunder  shower,  as  so  often  hap- 
pens at  this  season. 

By  half  past  two  in  the  afternoon  the  country 
teams  could  be  seen  winding  Bluffward  by  all  the 
various  roads,  and  before  three,  the  hour  at  which 
the  gates  were  to  be  opened,  every  available  hitching 
place  was  occupied,  and  the  line  of  vehicles  extended 
well  up  one  of  the  back  lanes  that  was  bounded  by  a 
convenient  rail  fence. 

Horace  Bradford  arrived  home  at  Pine  Ridge 
night  before  last.  He  had  expected  to  see  Sylvia 
and  Miss  Lavinia  at  Rockcliffe.  Missing  them,  and 


274    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

not  knowing  the  cause  of  their  change  of  plan,  very 
naturally  his  first  thought  was  to  drive  down  to  Oak- 
lands  and  make  a  double  call.  On  taking  up  the 
local  paper  he  saw  the  announcement  of  the  rose 
festival  set  forth  in  ornamental  type,  which  gave  him 
a  key  to  the  situation,  so  that  the  substantial,  if  not 
ornamental,  farm  buggy,  drawn  by  a  young  horse 
with  plenty  of  free-gaited  country  go  but  no 
"  manners,"  was  one  of  the  first  to  reach  the  Bluffs, 
Horace  innocently  hoping  to  have  a  few  moments 
with  Sylvia  before  the  festivities  began.  He  there- 
fore inquired  his  way  to  the  Latham  house  direct, 
instead  of  going  into  the  fair  grounds  by  way  of  the 
Ponsonbys',  and  encountered  Perkins,  Potts,  and 
Parker,  who  were  on  guard  at  the  door,  as  well  as 
two  footmen  who  stood  by  the  steps  with  straw 
wheel  guards  ready  to  assist  people  from  their 
traps,  and  two  grooms  in  silk-sleeved  buff  jackets, 
who  waited  to  take  charge  of  the  horses  of  the  men 
who  were  expected  to  ride  over  from  a  neighbouring 
social  settlement. 

The  outdoor  group  seemed  to  be  in  doubt  how  to 
proceed.  Bradford  had  all  the  ease  of  bearing  that 
they  instinctively  felt  belonged  to  a  gentleman,  but  his 
turnout  was  beyond  the  pale,  and  the  grooms  hesitated 
to  give  it  the  shelter  of  the  perfectly  equipped  stable. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     275 

Perkins,  however,  did  not  hesitate,  and  before  Brad- 
ford could  open  his  lips,  came  through  the  doors  that 
were  fastened  wide  open,  and,  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  said,  in  freezing  tones,  "  You've  come  in  the 
wrong  way ;  the  entrance  gate  and  ticket  booth  is 
below,  as  the  sign  shows." 

"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Latham,"  said  Bradford,  hand- 
ing his  card,  and  at  the  same  time  with  difficulty  sup- 
pressing a  violent  desire  to  knock  the  man  down. 

"  Not  at  home,"  replied  immovable  Perkins,  vouch- 
safing no  further  information. 

"Then  take  my  card  to  Mrs.  Latham,"  thundered 
Bradford,  nettled  by  his  slip  in  not  asking  for  both  at 
the  first  instance,  and,  as  the  man  still  hesitated,  he 
strode  past  him  through  the  porch  and  into  the  hall. 

As  Perkins  disappeared  through  one  of  the  many 
doorways,  Bradford  stood  still  for  a  moment  before 
his  eyes  focussed  to  the  change  of  light.  The  pillars 
of  the  hall  that  supported  the  balcony  corridor  of  the 
second  story  were  wreathed  with  light  green  vines, 
delicate  green  draperies  screened  the  windows,  the 
pale  light  coming  from  many  Japanese  lanterns 
and  exquisitely  shaded  bronze  lamps  rather  than  out- 
side. Half  a  dozen  little  arbours  were  formed  by 
large  Japanese  umbrellas,  under  which  tea  tables  were 
placed,  and  the  sweet  air  of  the  summer  afternoon 


276     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

was  changed  and  made  suffocatingly  heavy  by  burn- 
ing incense. 

Of  course  all  this  paraphernalia  belonged  to  the 
festival,  and  yet  Bradford  was  not  prepared  to  find 
Sylvia  living  in  such  daily  state  as  the  other  surround- 
ings implied.  He  knew  that  she  belonged  to  a  pros- 
perous family,  but  his  entrance  to  what  he  supposed 
would  be,  as  the  name  implied,  a  country  cottage,  was 
a  decided  shock  to  him. 

He  had  been  drawn  irresistibly  toward  Sylvia 
almost  from  their  meeting  in  the  lecture  room  several 
years  before,  but  he  could  hardly  allow  himself  the 
luxury  of  day  dreams  then,  and  it  was  not  until  his 
promotion  had  seemed  to  him  to  place  him  upon  a 
safe  footing,  that  he  had  paused  long  enough  to 
realize  how  completely  she  was  woven  into  all  his 
thoughts  of  the  future.  Now,  as  he  waited  there,  a 
broad  gulf,  not  a  crossable  river,  seemed  to  stretch 
before  him,  not  alone  financial  but  ethical,  —  a  sweep- 
ing troublous  torrent,  the  force  of  which  he  could 
neither  stem  nor  even  explain  to  himself, — verily  the 
surging  of  the  Whirlpool  at  his  feet. 

Babbling  girlish  voices  waked  him  from  his  revery, 
and  half  a  dozen  young  figures,  disguised  in  hand- 
somely embroidered  Japanese  costumes  and  head- 
gear, their  eyes  given  the  typical  almond-shaped  and 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     277 

upward  slant  by  means  of  paint  and  pencil,  came 
down  the  stairs,  followed  a  moment  later  by  a  taller 
figure  in  still  richer  robes,  and  so  carefully  made 
up  by  powder  and  paint  that  at  a  distance  she 
looked  but  little  older  than  the  girls.  Coming  toward 
Bradford  with  an  expression  of  playful  inquiry,  she 
said :  "  Is  this  Mr.  Bradford  ?  I  am  Mrs.  Latham. 
Did  you  wish  to  see  me?  I've  only  a  moment  to 
spare,  for  at  three  o'clock  I  lose  my  identity  and 
become  a  Geisha  girl." 

Bradford  was  embarrassed  for  a  moment,  even 
quite  disconcerted.  Why  should  he  have  taken  it 
for  granted  that  Sylvia  had  spoken  of  him,  and  that 
he  should  be  known  to  her  mother  ?  But  such  was 
the  case,  and  he  felt  bitterly  humbled. 

"  I  was  one  of  Miss  Latham's  instructors  at  Rock- 
cliffe  two  years  ago.  I  have  returned  now  to  spend 
the  vacation  with  my  mother,  whom  perhaps  you 
know,  at  Pine  Ridge,  and  finding  that  you  have  come 
to  live  here  —  I — ventured  to  call."  If  poor  Brad- 
ford had  desired  to  be  stiff  and  uninterestingly  di- 
dactic, he  could  not  have  succeeded  better. 

"Ah,  yes  —  Rockcliffe  —  Sylvia  was  there  for  a 
couple  of  years,  and  will  doubtless  be  glad  to  hear  of 
the  place.  I  myself  never  approved  of  college  life 
for  girls,  it  makes  them  so  superior  and  offish  when 


278     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

they  return  to  society.  Even  two  years  abroad  have 
not  put  Sylvia  completely  at  her  ease  among  us 
again. 

"  We  do  not  live  here ;  this  is  merely  a  between- 
season  roost,  and  we  leave  again  next  week,  so  I  have 
not  met  your  mother.  The  only  one  of  the  name  I 
recollect  is  an  old  country  egg  woman  back  some- 
where in  the  hills  toward  Pine  Ridge.  You  will 
find  Sylvia  at  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith's,  just  above,  at  the 
rose  booth.  Pardon  me  if  I  leave  you  now,  I  have 
so  much  on  my  hands  this  afternoon." 

Thus  dismissed,  Bradford  went  out  into  the  light 
again.  He  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  his  horse 
and  buggy,  standing  unheeded  where  he  left  them, 
looked  strangely  out  of  date,  and  as  he  went  down 
the  steps,  the  horse  turned  his  head,  and  recog- 
nizing him,  gave  a  joyful  whinny  that  caused  the 
grooms  to  grin.  He  could  feel  the  colour  rising  to 
his  very  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  he  determined  to 
go  home  without  making  any  further  effort  to  find 
Sylvia,  and  he  felt  grateful  that  his  mother  had  de- 
clined his  invitation  to  come  with  him  to  the  festival. 

His  mother,  "  the  egg-woman  "  !  What  would  she 
have  thought  of  Sylvia's  mother  thus  painted  and 
transformed  in  the  name  of  charity?  He  expe- 
rienced a  thrill  of  relief  at  the  escape. 


THE  PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL    270 

As  he  found  himself  on  the  free  highway  once 
more,  he  faltered.  He  would  see  how  Sylvia  bore 
herself  in  the  new  surroundings  before  he  put  it  all 
behind  him.  This  time  he  found  a  bit  of  shade  and 
a  fence  rail  for  the  too  friendly  nag,  and  entering  the 
Jenks-Smith  grounds  afoot,  followed  the  crowd  that 
was  gathering. 

The  rose  garden  of  five  years'  well-trained  growth 
was  extremely  beautiful,  while  the  pergola  that  sepa- 
rated it  from  the  formal  garden  of  the  fountain, 
and  at  the  same  time  served  as  a  gateway  to  it,  was 
utilized  as  the  booth  where  roses  and  fanciful  boxes 
of  giant  strawberries  were  to  be  sold. 

Bradford,  standing  at  a  little  distance,  under  an 
archway,  scanned  the  faces  of  the  smart  married 
women  who  bustled  about  canvassing,  and  the 
young  girls  who  carelessly  gathered  the  sumptuous 
roses  into  bouquets  for  the  buyers,  making  a  great 
fuss  over  the  thorns  as  they  did  so.  Then  one  tall, 
white-clad  figure  arrested  his  attention.  It  was 
Sylvia.  She  handled  the  flowers  lovingly,  and  was 
bestowing  patient  attention  upon  a  country  woman, 
to  whom  these  pampered  roses  were  a  revelation, 
and  who  wished  a  bouquet  made  up  of  samples,  one 
of  each  variety,  and  not  a  mass  all  of  a  colour  like 
the  bunches  that  were  arranged  in  the  great  baskets 


280     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

As  Sylvia  held  the  bouquet  up  for  the  woman's 
approval,  adding  a  bud  here  and  there,  pausing  to 
breathe  its  fragrance  herself  before  handing  it  to  the 
purchaser,  Horace's  courage  came  back.  She  was 
plainly  not  a  part  of  the  vortex  that  surrounded  her. 
Circumstances  at  present  seemed  to  stand  between. 
He  could  not  even  venture  a  guess  if  she  ever  gave 
him  other  than  a  friendly  thought;  but  a  feeling 
came  over  him  as  he  stood  in  the  deep  shade,  that 
some  day  she  might  be  lonely  and  need  steadfast 
friendship,  and  then  the  opportunity  to  serve  her 
would  give  him  the  right  to  question. 

Now  thoroughly  master  of  himself,  he  went  toward 
her,  and  was  rewarded  by  a  greeting  of  unfeigned 
pleasure,  a  few  moments  of  general  talk,  and  a  big 
bunch  of  roses  for  his  mother. 

"  No,  you  shall  not  buy  these.  I  am  sending  them 
to  your  mother  with  my  love,  to  beg  pardon  for  Miss 
Lavinia  and  myself,  for  we've  been  trying  to  go  to 
Pine  Ridge  all  the  week ;  but  this  affair  has  kept  me 
spinning  like  a  top,  and  when  I  do  stop  I  expect  to 
fall  over  with  weariness.  I  was  so  sorry  about  Rock- 
cliffe  Commencement.  Some  day,  perhaps,  mamma 
will  have  finished  bringing  me  out,  and  then  I  can 
crawl  in  again  where  it  is  quiet,  and  live.  Ah,  you 
went  to  the  house  and  saw  her,  and  she  said  we  were 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     281 

going  away  next  week  ?  I  did  not  know  it,  but  we 
flit  about  so  one  can  never  tell.  I've  half  a  mind  to 
be  rebellious  and  ask  to  be  left  here  with  Lavinia 
Dorman  for  guardian,  I'm  so  tired  of  change.  Yes, 
I  enjoyed  my  flying  trip  to  the  West,  in  a  way, 
though  father  only  came  as  far  as  Chicago  with  me, 
but  I  expect  him  to-morrow." 

Then  the  crowd  surged  along,  peering,  staring, 
and  feeling,  so  that  it  would  have  blocked  the  way 
conspicuously  if  Bradford  had  lingered  longer.  As 
he  vanished,  Monty  Bell  sauntered  up,  and,  entering 
the  booth,  took  his  place  by  Sylvia.  Under  pre- 
text of  good-naturedly  saving  her  fingers  from 
thorns  by  tying  the  bouquets  for  her,  kept  by  her 
side  all  the  afternoon,  and  when  a  lull  came  at  tea 
time,  strolled  with  her  toward  the  refreshment  tent, 
where  he  coaxed  her  to  sit  down  to  rest  in  one  of  the 
little  recesses  that  lined  the  garden  wall,  where  she 
would  be  free  from  the  crowd  while  he  brought  her 
some  supper. 

This  she  did  the  more  readily  because  she  was 
really  tired,  almost  to  the  point  of  faintness,  and  even 
felt  grateful  when  Mr.  Bell  returned  with  some 
dainty  food,  and  sat  beside  her  to  hold  her  plate. 
She  was  so  used  to  seeing  him  about  at  all  hours, 
making  himself  generally  useful,  that  the  little  atten- 


282     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

tions  he  continually  showered  upon  her  never  held  a 
fragment  of  personality  in  her  eyes. 

Now,  however,  something  familiar  in  his  manner 
jarred  upon  her  and  put  her  strangely  on  her  guard. 
One  of  the  man's  peculiarities  was  that  he  had  a 
hypnotic  manner,  and  presently,  almost  before  she 
could  really  understand  what  he  was  about,  he  had 
put  his  arm  around  her  and  was  making  an  easy, 
take-it-all-for-granted  declaration  of  love. 

For  an  instant  she  could  not  believe  her  ears,  and 
then  his  tightening  clasp  brought  realization.  Tear- 
ing herself  away,  and  dropping  her  plate  with  a 
crash,  she  faced  him  with  white  face  and  blazing 
eyes,  saying  but  one  word  —  "Stop!"  in  so  com- 
manding a  tone  that  even  his  fluency  faltered,  and 
he  paused  in  exceeding  amaze  at  the  result  of 
what  he  had  supposed  any  woman  of  his  set  would 
esteem  an  honour,  much  more  this  strange  girl  whose 
mother  was  engaged  so  systematically  in  securing  a 
place  at  the  ladder  top. 

"  If  I  had  understood  that  your  casual  politeness 
to  me  and  usefulness  to  my  mother  meant  insult  such 
as  this,  we  should  have  checked  it  long  ago." 

"  Insult  ? "  ejaculated  Monty  Bell,  looking  over 
his  shoulder,  apprehensive  lest  some  one  should  be 
within  ear-shot,  for  to  be  an  object  of  ridicule  was 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL     283 

the  greatest  evil  that  could  come  to  him.  "You 
don't  understand.  I  want  you  to  marry  me." 

"  Insult,  most  certainly !  What  else  do  you  call  it 
for  a  man  with  two  little  daughters,  and  divorced  by 
his  wife  for  his  own  unforgivable  fault,  to  ask  any 
woman  to  marry  him !  Yes,  I  know,  you  see.  La- 
vinia  Dorman  is  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Bell ! " 

"The  devil!"  muttered  the  man,  still  looking 
about  uneasily,  under  the  gaze  of  her  uncompro- 
mising accusation.  In  some  way  the  directness  of 
her  words  made  him  feel  uncomfortable  for  the 
moment,  but  he  quickly  recovered,  changed  his 
tactics,  and  burying  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  as- 
sumed his  usually  jaunty  air,  while  half  a  smile,  half  a 
sneer,  crossed  his  face  as  he  said  lightly :  "  What  a 
droll,  Puritan  spitfire  we  are,  aren't  we  ?  As  if  re- 
arranged families  were  not  a  thing  of  daily  happen- 
ing. Don't  feel  called  upon  to  kick  up  a  rumpus,  it 
isn't  necessary ;  besides,  take  a  tip  from  me,  your 
mother  won't  like  it !  If  you  are  through  with  that 
cup,  I  will  take  the  things  back,"  and  nonchalantly 
shying  the  bits  of  the  broken  plate  into  the  bushes, 
he  went  toward  the  refreshment  tent,  saying  to  his 
host,  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith,  who  was  inquiring  for  Sylvia : 
"  Yes,  she  is  yonder  in  the  second  arbour.  I've 
taken  her  some  tea,  for  she's  quite  done  up;  that 


284    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

beastly  overland  trip  home  was  too  much  for  her  in 
the  first  hot  weather." 

Consequently  the  warm-hearted  Lady  of  the  Bluffs 
was  naturally  prepared  to  find  Sylvia  sick  and  faint, 
and  urged  sending  her  home,  where  she  could  slip  in 
and  get  to  bed  unobserved,  which  was  the  one  thing 
that  the  girl  most  desired.  Also  this  shrewd  lady 
was  wise  enough  to  give  no  sign,  even  though  she 
drew  her  conclusions,  when  on  turning  to  leave  the 
arbour  she  saw  a  bit  of  the  broken  plate  lying  on  the 
ground  at  the  opposite  side  near  where  a  point  of 
the  rustic  work  had  torn  a  shred  from  Sylvia's  mull 
drapery  as  she  had  pulled  herself  away. 

******* 

By  the  time  that  Sylvia  had  gained  her  room  the 
warm  twilight  sky  had  been  transformed  to  a  silver 
lake  by  the  moon,  but  she  neither  enjoyed  its  beauty 
nor  heard  the  music  that  was  beginning  to  come  from 
the  rose  garden  above,  as  well  as  the  tea  room  below 
stairs.  She  sat  by  the  window,  deaf  to  all  outside 
things,  with  only  one  thought  in  her  mind ;  she  would 
gladly  have  buried  the  occurrence  of  the  arbour,  if  it 
were  possible,  but  as  it  was,  she  must  tell  her  mother, 
as  now,  that  his  motive  was  made  plain,  Monty  Bell, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  could  no  longer  come  to  the 
house.  Finally  she  went  to  bed  and  slept  from 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL     285 

sheer  exhaustion,  never  for  a  moment  doubting  that 
her  mother  would  take  her  view  of  the  matter. 
Presently  the  French  maid  crept  in  and  closed  the 
blinds,  wondering  why  Mademoiselle  often  seemed 
to  take  pleasure  so  sadly,  and  appeared  older  than 
Madame,  her  mother,  and  then,  feeling  at  liberty, 
hurried  down  gayly  to  dance  on  the  back  porch  with 
the  loitering  gentlemen's  gentlemen  who  gathered 
there. 

**.*#*** 
Mrs.  Latham  slept  late  the  next  morning,  and  at 
eleven  o'clock  had  only  finished  looking  over  her 
mail  without  yet  touching  her  breakfast,  when, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  to  her  knock,  Sylvia 
entered.  Her  mother  looked  up  in  some  surprise, 
for  she  did  not  encourage  running  in  and  out  at 
all  hours,  or  any  of  the  usual  intimacies  between  a 
mother  and  grown  daughter  who  are  companions.  In 
fact  she  did  not  even  ask  Sylvia  to  sit  down,  or  if  she 
was  ill,  though  her  pallor  was  very  apparent,  but 
merely  raised  questioning  eyebrows,  saying,  "What 
is  it?"  as  she  turned  her  attention  to  some  legal- 
looking  documents  in  her  lace-decked  lap. 

Chilled  to  the  heart  Sylvia  seated  herself  in  a  low 
chair  by  her  mother,  so  that  she  need  not  raise  her 
voice,  and  twisting  her  hands  nervously,  told  what 


286    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

had  happened  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  much  as  if 
she  had  repeated  them  over  and  over  until  they  were 
learned  like  a  lesson. 

Mrs.  Latham's  cold  gray  eyes  at  first  snapped 
viciously,  and  then  grew  big  with  wonder  as  Sylvia 
ended  by  saying,  "I  should  never  have  spoken  of 
this  to  any  one,  and  tried  to  forget,  but  you  would 
think  it  strange  that  Mr.  Bell  should  stop  coming 
here  —  and  —  " 

"  Think  it  strange  ? "  said  Mrs.  Latham,  speaking 
harshly  and  rapidly,  a  thing  she  rarely  did.  "  Do  you 
know  what  I  think  of  you  ?  That  you  are  the  most 
absolute  little  fool  I  ever  imagined.  You  not  only 
refuse  a  man  who  could  make  your  social  position 
secure,  but  rant  and  get  into  tantrums  over  the  com- 
pliment he  pays  you,  and  call  it  an  'insult,'  exactly  as 
your  canting  grandmother  Latham  might  have  done. 
I've  no  patience  with  you ;  and  if  you  think  that  this 
nonsense  of  yours  shuts  the  door  in  Monty  Bell's 
face,  you  are  wholly  mistaken. 

"While  we  are  upon  this  subject  of  divorce  that 
seems  to  shock  you  so,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  what 
you  will  not  see  for  yourself,  and  your  father  appears 
to  have  been  too  mealy-mouthed  to  explain,  —  we 
have  agreed  to  separate.  No  need  of  your  getting 
tragic,  there  are  no  public  recriminations  on  either 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     287 

side,  no  vulgar  infidelity  or  common  quarrelling,  every- 
thing quite  amicable,  I  assure  you.  Simply  we  find 
our  tastes  totally  different,  and  have  done  so  for 
several  years.  Mr.  Latham's  ambitions  are  wholly 
financial,  mine  are  social.  He  repelled  and  ignored 
my  best  friends,  and  as  we  are  in  every  way  inde- 
pendent of  each  other,  he  has  been  wise  enough  to 
avoid  possible  and  annoying  complications  by  stand- 
ing out  of  my  way  and  making  it  easy  for  me  to 
legalize  the  arrangement  and  readjust  myself  com- 
pletely to  new  conditions." 

"  But  what  of  Carthy  and  me  ?  "  gasped  Sylvia,  in  a 
voice  so  choked  and  hollow  that  the  older  woman 
hesitated,  but  for  a  single  instant  only.  "Have 
neither  you  nor  father  thought  of  us  ?  Where  do  we 
belong  ?  Where  is  our  home  ?  Can  people  who  have 
once  loved  each  other  forget  their  children  and 
throw  them  off  so?  Does  God  allow  it  ?  You  must 
have  cared  for  father  once,  for  I  remember  when  I 
was  a  little  girl  you  told  me  that  you  called  me  Sylvia, 
to  have  my  name  as  nearly  like  father's  —  Sylvester 
—  as  possible.  Have  you  forgotten  it  all,  that  you  can 
do  this  thing,  when  you  say  in  the  same  breath  that 
father  has  done  no  evil  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  tragic,  Sylvia,  and  rake  up  things  that 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  As  to  your 


288     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

brother,  it  was  your  father's  foolish  severity  about  a 
card  debt,  and  insisting  upon  placing  him  away  from 
me,  that  is  primarily  responsible  for  the  divorce,  not 
any  wish  of  mine  to  exile  Carthy.  And  you  ask 
where  your  home  is,  as  if  I  had  turned  you  out,  when 
you  have  just  refused  an  offer  that  any  unmarried 
society  woman,  who  can  afford  it,  would  clutch." 

Sylvia  sat  silent,  looking  blindly  before  her.  Her 
mother  waited  a  moment,  as  if  expecting  some  reply, 
and  then  continued  :  "  Now  that  the  matter  is  virtu- 
ally settled,  I  suppose  in  a  few  days  the  papers  will 
save  me  the  trouble  of  announcing  it.  Under  the 
circumstances,  I  shall  rent  the  Newport  house  for 
the  season,  as  I  have  had  several  good  offers,  and  go 
abroad  for  two  or  three  months  on  the  continent,  so 
that  before  my  return  the  town  house  will  be  re- 
decorated and  everything  will  be  readjusted  for  a 
successful  winter.  You  had  better  take  a  few  days 
before  deciding  what  to  do.  You  can,  of  course, 
come  with  me,  if  you  are  not  sick  of  travel,  or  go  to 
your  father,  who  is  ready  to  make  you  a  handsome 
allowance ;  though  you  will  find  that  awkward  at  pres- 
ent, as  he  is  moving  about  so  much.  If  you  choose 
to  feel  aggrieved  just  now,  you  might  persuade  your 
dear,  prim  Miss  Dorman  to  either  stay  here  with  you 
or  take  that  little  furnished  house  that  is  to  rent  on 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     289 

the  lower  road,  if  you  prefer  that  form  of  discomfort 
they  call  simplicity.  You  needn't  decide  now ;  take 
time,"  she  added  genially,  as  if  she  was  doing  all 
that  could  be  asked. 

When  she  ceased  speaking,  Sylvia,  with  bowed 
head,  rose  and  quickly  left  the  room. 

Then  Mrs.  Latham  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  that  the 
interview  was  over,  threw  the  papers  into  a  bureau 
drawer,  called  to  the  maid,  who  had  been  all  the  while 
listening  in  the  dressing  room,  to  prepare  to  arrange 
her  hair,  and,  taking  the  chances  that  Sylvia  would 
keep  her  room,  at  least  for  some  hours,  wrote  a  hasty 
note  to  Monty  Bell,  inviting  him  to  luncheon. 

Meanwhile,  Sylvia,  instead  of  going  to  her  room 
to  cry,  took  her  hat  and  crept  out  into  the  lane  that 
led  to  the  woods.  She  must  be  quite  away  by  her- 
self and  gain  time  to  think.  This  was  a  terrible  sort 
of  grief  that  could  neither  be  kept  secret  nor  halved 
by  sympathy,  but  must  be  worn  in  the  full  glare  of 
day.  Her  heart  condemned  her  mother  wholly,  and 
she  understood  why  her  father  kept  the  silence  of 
shame,  —  to  whom  could  she  turn  ?  As  she  gained 
the  woods,  and  throwing  herself  down  on  a  soft  bed 
of  hemlock  needles,  closed  her  dry,  burning  eyes,  two 
people  seemed  to  stand  side  by  side  and  look  at  her 
pityingly, —  Lavinia  Dorman  and  Horace  Bradford, — 


290    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

and  mentally  she  turned  toward  one  and  shrank  from 
the  other.  In  Miss  Lavinia  she  saw  her  only  refuge, 
but  between  herself  and  Horace  the  shadow  of  his 
upright  mother  seemed  to  intervene.  What  could 
they  think  of  her  mother  playing  at  Geisha  girl  in 
her  own  home  at  the  very  hour  of  its  wreck  ? 


XII 
HIS   MOTHER 

July  i.  It  was  several  days  after  the  festival  before 
the  news  of  the  Latham  divorce  was  made  definitely 
public  by  a  paragraph  under  the  heading  of  "  Society 
News,"  in  one  of  the  New  York  papers,  though  of 
course  the  rumour  had  crept  into  every  house  on  the 
Bluffs,  by  way  of  the  back  stairs. 

Miss  Lavinia  was  greatly  distressed,  and  yet  did 
not  know  exactly  how  to  act  in  the  matter ;  for  though 
Mrs.  Latham  was  seen  driving  by,  as  usual,  Sylvia 
made  no  sign. 

We  may  read  of  such  cases  often  enough,  and  yet 
when  the  blow  falls  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood, 
one  must  feel  the  reflex  of  the  shock.  While  sympathy 
for  Sylvia  keeps  the  thing  ever  present,  like  a  weight 
upon  the  chest,  I  find  myself  wondering  if  anything 
could  have  been  done  to  avert  the  disaster,  and  we  all 
rove  about  in  a  hah0  unsettled  condition.  Half  a 
dozen  times  a  day  Lavinia  Dorman  starts  up  with  the 
determination  of  calling  upon  Sylvia,  but  this  morning 

291 


292     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

decided  upon  writing  her  a  letter  instead,  and  having 
sent  it  up  by  Timothy  Saunders,  is  now  sitting  out  in 
the  arbour,  while  Martin  Cortright  is  reading  to  her 
from  his  manuscript ;  but  her  attention  is  for  the  first 
time  divided,  and  she  is  continually  glancing  up  the 
road  as  if  expecting  a  summons,  — a  state  of  things  that 
causes  an  expression  of  mild  surprise  and  disappoint- 
ment to  cross  Martin's  countenance  at  her  random 
and  inapropos  criticisms.  I  see  that  in  my  recent  con- 
fusion I  have  forgotten  to  record  the  fact  that  Miss 
Lavinia  has  fallen  into  the  role  of  critic  for  Martin's 
book,  and  that  for  the  last  ten  days,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  he  reads  to  her  every  afternoon  the  result 
of  his  morning's  work,  finding,  as  he  says,  that  her 
power  of  condensation  is  of  the  greatest  help  in 
enabling  him  to  eliminate  much  of  the  needless  detail 
of  his  subject  that  blocked  him,  and  to  concentrate 
his  vitality  upon  the  rest. 

This  all  looks  promising,  to  my  romantic  mind ;  for 
the  beginning  of  all  kinds  of  affection,  physical,  men- 
tal, and  spiritual,  that  are  huddled  together  in  varying 
proportions  as  component  parts  of  love,  has  its  origin 
in  dependence.  Father  declares  independence,  self- 
ishness, and  aloofness  to  be  the  trinity  of  hell.  Now 
Martin  Cortright  has  come  to  depend  upon  Lavinia 
Dorman's  opinion,  and  she  is  beginning  not  only  to 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     293 

realize  and  enjoy  his  dependence,  but  to  aid  and  abet 
it.  Is  not  this  symptomatic  ? 

When  I  approach  father  upon  the  Latham  affair,  he 
says  that  he  thinks  the  rupture  was  inevitable  from 
the  point  of  view  and  conditions  that  existed.  He 
feels,  from  the  evidence  that  long  experience  with  the 
inner  life  of  households  has  given  him,  that  though 
a  thoughtless  woman  may  be  brought  to  realize,  and 
a  woman  with  really  bad  inherited  instincts  reclaimed, 
through  love,  the  wholly  selfish  woman  of  Mrs. 
Latham's  type  remains  immovable  to  word  of  God  or 
man,  and  is  unreachable,  save  through  the  social 
code  of  the  class  that  forms  her  world,  and  this  code 
sanctions  both  the  marriage  and  the  divorce  of  con- 
venience, and  receives  the  results  equally  with  open 
arms. 

As  to  the  effect  upon  Sylvia,  father  exhibits  much 
concern,  and  no  little  anxiety,  for  he  has  read  her  as 
a  nature  in  some  respects  old  for  her  twenty-one 
years,  and  in  others,  the  side  of  the  feminine,  wholly 
young  and  unawakened,  so  that  this  jar,  he  thinks, 
comes  at  a  most  critical  moment. 

He  has  a  pretty  theory  that  the  untroubled  heart  of 
a  young  girl  is  like  a  vessel  full  of  the  fresh  spring 
sap  of  the  sugar  maple  that  is  being  freed  by  slow 
fire  from  its  crudities  and  condensed  to  tangible  form. 


294     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

When  a  certain  point  is  reached,  it  is  ready  to  crystal- 
lize about  the  first  object  that  stirs  it  ever  so  lightly, 
irrespective  of  its  quality :  this  is  first  love.  But  if 
the  condensing  process  is  lingering,  no  jar  disturbing 
it  prematurely  until,  as  it  reaches  perfection,  the  vital 
touch  suddenly  reaches  its  depths,  then  comes  real 
love,  perfected  at  first  sight,  clinging  everlastingly  to 
the  object,  love  that  endures  by  its  own  strength,  not 
by  mere  force  of  habit ;  and  this  love  belongs  only  to 
the  heart's  springtime,  before  full  consciousness  has 
made  it  speculative. 
******* 

When  Horace  Bradford  drove  homeward  the  after- 
noon of  the  fete,  he  was  in  a  brown  study,  having 
no  realization  of  time  or  place  until  the  wise  horse 
turned  in  at  the  barnyard  gate,  and  after  standing 
a  moment  by  his  usual  hitching  post,  looked  over  his 
shoulder  and  gave  a  whinny  to  attract  his  master's 
attention.  Then  Horace  started  up,  shook  off  his 
lethargy,  and  hurried  to  the  porch,  where  his  mother 
stood  waiting,  to  give  her  the  roses,  and  Sylvia's 
message. 

Mrs.  Bradford  was,  for  one  of  her  reserve,  almost 
childishly  eager  to  hear  of  the  experiences  of  the 
afternoon,  and  was  prepared  to  sit  down  comfortably 
on  the  porch  and  have  her  son  give  a  full  account  of 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL     295 

it ;  but  instead,  he  gave  her  a  few  rather  incoherent 
details,  and  leaving  her  standing  with  the  splendid 
roses  held  close  to  her  face,  very  much  in  Sylvia's 
own  attitude,  he  hurried  up  to  his  room,  where  she 
could  hear  him  moving  about  as  if  unpacking  his 
things,  and  opening  and  shutting  drawers  nervously. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said  softly  to  herself,  "  he  will 
tell  me  all  about  her  when  he  is  ready.  Meanwhile, 
I'll  wait,  and  not  get  in  his  way, — that  is  what 
mothers  are  for."  But  by  some  strange  impulse  she 
loosened  the  string  that  bound  the  roses,  and  placed 
them  in  one  of  her  few  treasures,  a  silver  bowl,  in 
the  centre  of  the  supper  table,  and  going  to  her  bed- 
chamber, which  was,  country  fashion,  back  of  the 
sitting  room,  arrayed  herself  in  Horace's  gifts, — the 
silk  gown  and  fichu,  with  the  onyx  bar  and  butterflies 
to  fasten  it,  —  and  then  returned  to  the  porch  to 
watch  the  twilight  gently  veil  sunset. 

Upstairs,  Horace  unpacked  his  trunks  in  a  rebel- 
lious mood.  In  the  morning  he  had  felt  in  the 
proper  sense  self-sufficient  and  contented,  —  the  posi- 
tion, which  a  few  months  before  he  thought  perhaps 
ten  years  ahead  of  him,  had  suddenly  dropped  at  his 
feet,  and  he  felt  a  natural  elation,  though  it  stopped 
quite  short  of  self-conceit.  He  could  afford  to  relax 
the  grip  with  which  he  had  been  holding  himself  in 


296     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

check,  and  face  the  knowledge  that  he  loved  Sylvia ; 
while  the  fact  that  fate  had  brought  her  to  summer 
in  his  vicinity  seemed  but  another  proof  that  fortune 
was  smiling  upon  him. 

Now  everything,  though  outwardly  the  same,  was 
changed  by  the  new  point  of  view,  which  he  realized 
that  he  had  already  tried  to  conceal  from  his  mother, 
by  his  scanty  account  of  the  festival.  He  had  been 
suddenly  confronted  by  conditions  that  he  never 
expected  to  meet  outside  of  the  pages  of  fiction,  and 
felt  himself  utterly  unable  to  combat  them.  Under 
the  present  circumstances  even  neighbourly  friend- 
ship with  Sylvia  would  be  difficult.  It  was  not  that 
Mrs.  Latham  had  overawed  him  in  the  least,  but  she 
had  raised  in  him  so  fierce  and  blinding  a  resentment 
by  her  only  half  unconscious  reference  to  his  mother, 
that  he  resolved  that  under  no  circumstances  should 
she  run  the  risk  of  being  equally  rebuffed.  He 
would  protect  her  from  a  possible  intercourse,  where 
she  could  not  be  expected,  at  her  age,  to  hold  her 
own,  at  no  matter  what  cost  to  himself. 

"  Egg  woman ! "  Was  it  not  his  mother's  pride 
and  endeavour,  her  thrift  and  courage  to  carry  on 
the  great  farm  alone,  and  the  price  of  such  things  as 
those  very  eggs,  that  had  carried  through  his  dying 
father's  wish,  and  sent  him  to  college,  thus  giving  him 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     297 

his  chance  in  the  world  ?  No  regret  at  the  fact,  no 
false  pride,  dawned  on  him  even  for  a  second.  All 
his  rage  was  that  such  a  woman  as  Sylvia's  mother 
should  have  the  power  to  stir  him  so,  and  then  his 
love  for  Sylvia  herself,  intensified  by  pity  for  the 
unknown  trouble  that  he  sensed  rather  than  read  in 
her  face,  cut  into  him  like  a  wound.  He  felt  as  if  he 
must  pick  her  up  in  his  strong  arms  and  bear  her 
away  from  all  those  clamouring  people ;  and  then  the 
realization  both  of  his  inability  and  ignorance  of  her 
own  attitude  fell  upon  him  like  a  chill,  for  she  had 
never  written  or  said  a  word  to  him  that  might  not 
have  passed  between  any  two  college  friends.  Such 
thoughts  occupied  him,  until  finally,  as  often  fortu- 
nately happens  in  our  mental  crises,  a  humdrum,  domes- 
tic voice,  the  supper  bell,  called  him,  and  leaving  his 
garments  strewn  about  the  room,  he  went  downstairs. 
His  mother  was  still  sitting  in  the  porch,  and  he 
became  at  once  conscious  of  a  change  in  her  appear- 
ance. As  she  looked  up  in  pleased  expectancy,  he 
recognized  the  cause,  and  his  sternness  vanished 
instantly,  as  he  said,  "  How  fine  we  look  to-night," 
and  half  sitting  on  the  little  foot-bench  beside  her, 
and  half  kneeling,  he  touched  the  soft  lace,  and 
gently  kissed  the  withered  cheek  whose  blood  was 
still  not  so  far  from  the  surface  but  that  it  could 


298     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

return  in  answer  to  the  caress,  while  she  looked 
yearningly  into  the  eyes  that  even  now  were  hardly 
on  a  level  with  hers,  as  if  searching  for  the  cause  of 
what  might  be  troubling  him.  Yet  she  only  said,  as 
they  rose  and  went  indoors,  "  I  put  on  your  gifts  for 
you,  at  our  first  supper  together,"  adding  with  an 
unconsciousness  that  made  Horace  smile  in  spite  of 
himself,  — "  besides,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  some  of 
the  neighbours  might  drop  in  to  see  us,  for  it  must 
have  got  about  by  this  time  that  you've  come  home ; 
the  mail  carrier  saw  you  drive  out  this  morning,  I'm 
quite  sure." 

Neighbours  did  call ;  some  from  pure  friendliness, 
others  to  see  if  "  Horace  acted  set  up  by  his  new 
callin'  and  fortune,"  and  still  others,  who  had  been 
to  the  Bluffs  that  afternoon,  to  tell  of  the  wonders  of 
the  festival,  their  praise  or  condemnation  varying 
according  to  age,  until  Mrs.  Bradford  was  at  a  loss 
whether  to  think  the  affair  a  spectacle  of  fairyland 
or  a  vision  of  the  bottomless  pit,  and  Horace  was  in 
torment  lest  he  should  be  appealed  to  for  an  opinion, 
which  he  was  presently.  "  What  did  he  think  of  the 
tea  room  ?  Was  Mrs.  Latham  painted  ?  Was  she 
Sylvia's  mother,  or  step-mother,  and  if  she  was  the 
former,  didn't  she  act  dreadful  giddy  for  the  mother 
of  grown  children  ?  And  didn't  he  think  Sylvia  was 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     299 

just  sweet,  so  different  from  the  rest,  and  sort  of  sad, 
as  if  she  had  a  step-mother,  as  people  said,  and  was 
sat  on  ? "  The  questioner  being  the  very  woman  for 
whom  Sylvia  had  taken  such  pains  in  selecting  the 
bouquet  of  specimen  roses,  who  proved  to  be  the  new 
wife  of  a  neighbour  whom  Horace  had  not  met. 

It  seemed  to  Horace  that  his  mother  purposely 
looked  away  from  him  as  he  tried  to  pull  himself 
together,  and  answer  nonchalantly  that  he  believed 
that  Mrs.  Latham  was  Sylvia's  own  mother,  though 
she  did  appear  very  young,  and  that  of  course  she 
was  acting  the  part  of  a  Geisha  girl,  a  tea-seller,  which 
would  account  for  her  sprightly  manner,  etc.,  un- 
consciously putting  what  he  wished  in  the  place  of 
what  he  knew,  adding  with  a  heartiness  that  almost 
made  his  voice  tremble  that  Miss  Sylvia  certainly 
did  seem  different,  and  as  if  she  was  no  kin  of  her 
mother's. 

"  I  guess,  then,  likely  it  isn't  her  step-mother,  but 
that  she's  worried  in  her  mind  about  her  beau,"  con- 
tinued the  loquacious  woman,  pleased  at  having  such 
a  large  audience  for  her  news.  "  I  heard  some  folks 
say,  —  when  I  was  waitin'  about  for  my  cream,  and 
havin'  a  good  look  at  all  the  millionnaires,  which  they 
didn't  mind,  but  seemed  to  expect,  the  same  bein'  fair 
enough,  seem'  as  it's  what  I  paid  to  go  in  for,  —  that 


300     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

the  man  they  call  Mr.  Bell,  that's  been  hangin' 
around  the  Bluffs  since  spring,  is  courtin'  her  steady, 
but  she  can't  seem  to  make  up  her  mind.  Thinks  I 
to  myself,  I  don't  wonder,  for  I've  had  a  good  look 
at  him,  and  he's  well  over  forty,  and  though  he 
dresses  fine,  from  his  eyes  I  wouldn't  trust  him,  if  he 
was  a  pedler,  even  to  weigh  out  my  rags  and  change 
'em  for  tin,  without  I'd  shook  the  scales  well  first. 
The  same  folks  was  sayin'  that  he's  a  grass  widower, 
anyway,  and  I  shouldn't  think  her  folks  would  put  up 
with  that,  fixed  as  they  be,  yet  they  do  say,"  and  here 
her  voice  dropped  mysteriously,  "  that  Mrs.  Latham's 
a  kind  of  grass  widder  herself,  for  her  husband  hasn't 
turned  up  in  all  the  year  she's  been  here,  and  nobody's 
so  much  as  seen  his  name  to  a  check." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Bradford  made  an  effort  to  turn 
the  conversation  into  other  channels ;  for  friendly  as 
she  always  was  with  her  neighbours  of  all  degrees, 
she  never  allowed  unkind  gossip  in  her  house,  and 
only  a  newcomer  would  have  ventured  upon  it.  As 
it  was,  the  loquacious  one  felt  the  rebuke  in  the  air, 
and  made  hasty  adieus  on  the  plea  of  having  to  set 
bread,  leaving  the  rest  to  talk  to  their  host  of  them- 
selves, their  pleasure  at  his  return,  and  the  local 
interests  of  Pine  Ridge. 

When  they  had  all  gone,  Horace  locked  the  back 


THE    PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     301 

door,  after  filling  an  old  yellow  and  bronze  glazed 
pitcher,  which  bric-a-brac  hunters  would  have  struggled 
for,  at  the  well,  as  he  had  done  every  night  during  his 
boyhood,  he  left  it  on  the  hall  table,  and  going  out 
the  front  way  to  the  garden,  walked  up  and  down  the 
long  straight  walk,  between  the  sweet  peas  and  rose 
bushes,  for  more  than  an  hour,  until,  having  fought  to 
no  conclusion  the  battle  into  which  a  new  foe  had 
entered,  he  returned  to  the  house  and  went  noiselessly 
to  his  room. 

Here,  in  place  of  the  confusion  he  had  left,  quiet 
and  order  reigned.  All  his  clothes  were  laid  away  in 
their  old  places.  He  had  but  to  reach  his  hand  inside 
the  closet,  the  door  of  which  hesitated  before  opening 
in  its  familiar  way,  to  find  his  night  gear ;  the  sheets 
were  turned  down  at  the  exact  angle,  and  ':he  pillows 
arranged  one  crosswise,  one  upright,  as  he  liked  them, 
—  his  mother's  remembering  touch  was  upon  every- 
thing. 

He  undressed  without  striking  a  light,  and  lay 
down,  only  to  look  wakefully  out  at  the  dark  lattice  of 
tree  branches  against  the  moonlit  sky.  Presently  a 
step  sounded  on  the  stairs  and  paused  at  his  partly 
open  door.  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  peer- 
ing through  the  crack  saw  his  mother  standing  there 
in  night-dress  and  short  sack,  shading  the  candle  with 


302     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

her  hand  as  she  used  when  he  was  a  little  chap,  to 
make  sure  that  he  was  safe  asleep  and  had  not  perhaps 
crept  out  the  window  to  go  coon  hunting  with  the 
bigger  boys,  —  a  proceeding  his  father  always  winked 
at,  but  which  she  feared  would  lead  him  to  overdo 
and  get  a  fever. 

"  I'm  here,  mother,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

"  Are  you  quite  comfortable,  Horace  ?  Is  there 
nothing  that  you  want  ? " 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said  frankly, 
"  Yes  and  no,  mother." 

"  Is  it  anything  that  I  can  do  for  you  ? "  she  asked, 
coming  into  the  room  and  smoothing  his  hair  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  no  of  it,  and  the  hard  part,  "  he 
answered,  capturing  the  hand  and  holding  it  tight 
between  his  own. 

"  And  the  hard  part  for  your  old  mother  too,  when 
the  one  thing  comes  that  she  cannot  give  or  do. 
Whatever  it  is,  don't  shut  me  out  from  it,  Horace, 
—  that  is,  unless  you  must,"  and  tucking  the  light 
summer  quilt  in  under  the  pillow  by  one  of  his  hands, 
she  kissed  his  forehead  and  went  away. 

Horace  Bradford  must  have  slept,  for  his  next  con- 
sciousness was  of  the  fresh  wind  and  light  of  morning, 
and  as  he  drew  his  cramped  hand  from  under  his 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     303 

pillow,  something  soft  and  filmy  came  with  it,  —  a 
woman's  handkerchief  edged  with  lace. 

For  a  minute  he  held  it  in  surprise,  and  then  began 
to  search  the  corners  for  the  marking.  There  it  was, 
two  embroidered  initials,  S.  L.  Where  had  it  dropped 
from  ?  Who  had  put  it  there  ?  Was  it  a  message 
or  an  accident  ?  Yet  it  was  both  and  neither.  His 
mother  had  found  the  dainty  thing  in  the  package 
from  New  York  that  held  the  gown  and  ornaments, 
where  it  had  dropped  from  Sylvia's  waist  that  night, 
four  months  before,  when  she  stood  leaning  on  Miss 
Lavinia  Dorman's  table,  as  the  parcel  was  being  tied. 

Mrs.  Bradford  had  pondered  over  it  silently  until, 
the  day  when  I  went  to  see  her  and  chanced  to 
mention  Sylvia  Latham's  name,  its  identity  flashed 
upon  her ;  and  when  gropingly  she  came  to  associate 
this  name  with  something  that  troubled  Horace, 
obliterating  self  and  mother  jealousy,  she  tucked  the 
bit  of  linen  underneath  his  pillow,  with  an  undefined 
idea,  knowing  nothing,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  com- 
fort him.  And  so  it  did ;  for  even  when  he  learned 
the  manner  of  its  coming,  he  put  it  in  his  letter  case 
as  a  reminder  not  to  despair  but  wait. 

******* 

When  a  week  had  passed  and  the  matter  of  the 
divorce  had  been  well  aired,  discussed,  and  was  no 


304     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

longer  a  novelty  to  her  neighbours  on  the  Bluffs, 
Mrs.  Latham's  plan  of  soon  closing  her  cottage  and 
transferring  the  servants  to  Newport,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  stable  men  and  a  couple  of  caretakers,  was 
announced,  as  she  was  going  abroad  for  the  baths. 
The  same  day  Lavinia  Dorman  received  an  urgent 
note  from  Sylvia,  asking  her  "when  and  where  she 
could  see  her  alone,  if,  as  she  thought  likely,  she  did 
not  feel  inclined  to  come  to  the  house."  The  tone  of 
the  brief  note  showed  that  Sylvia  felt  the  whole 
matter  to  be  a  keen  disgrace  that  not  only  com- 
promised herself  but  her  friends. 

Of  course  Miss  Lavinia  went,  and  would  have 
gone  even  if  she  had  to  combat  Mrs.  Latham,  for 
whom  she  asked  courteously  at  the  door;  but  that 
lady,  for  some  reason,  did  not  choose  to  appear  and 
run  the  gantlet,  and  sent  an  elaborate  message 
about  a  sick  headache  by  the  now  somewhat  crest- 
fallen Perkins.  Presently  Sylvia  slipped  into  the 
morning  room,  and  crouching  by  Miss  Lavinia,  buried 
her  face  in  her  friend's  lap,  the  tension  at  last  giving 
way,  and  it  was  some  time  before  she  grew  quiet 
enough  to  talk  coherently,  and  tell  her  plan,  which  is 
this :  she  wishes  Miss  Lavinia  to  take  the  Alton  cot- 
tage (which  is  furnished)  at  the  foot  of  the  Bluffs,  for 
the  rest  of  the  season,  and  live  there  with  her.  Then 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     305 

as  soon  as  Mrs.  Latham  has  gone,  and  the  poor  girl 
has  steadied  herself,  her  father,  to  whom  she  has 
already  written,  will  come,  and  what  she  will  do  in 
the  autumn  will  be  arranged.  Everything  is  as  yet 
vague ;  but  one  thing  she  has  decided  for  herself  — 
under  no  circumstances  will  she  again  live  with  her 
mother,  and  she  is  now  staying  quietly  in  the  house 
and  taking  her  meals  in  her  room,  in  order  to  give 
the  scandalmongers  and  gossips  as  little  material  as 
possible. 

Lavinia  Dorman,  who  readily  consented  to  do  as 
she  asked,  says  that  Sylvia  is  brave  and  heartbroken 
at  the  same  time,  that  all  her  girlish  spontaneity 
has  gone,  and  she  is  like  a  statue. 

I  am  so  sorry  to  have  Miss  Lavinia  go,  even  a  few 
hundred  yards  down  the  road,  it  has  seemed  so  good 
to  have  an  older  woman  in  the  house  to  whom  I  can 
say,  "Would  you,  or  wouldn't  you?"  Martin  is 
also  quite  upset,  and  has  stopped  writing  and  begun 
fumbling  and  pulling  the  reference  books  about 
again ;  but  Miss  Lavinia  says  that  she  is  not  going 
to  give  up  the  afternoon  reading,  for  she  thinks  the 
history  is  a  work  of  importance  not  to  be  slighted, 
and  that  Sylvia  will  doubtless  take  up  her  own  read- 
ing and  practising  after  a  time ;  that  while  she  her- 
self has  willingly  consented  to  chaperon  her,  she 


306     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

does  not  intend  to  give  up  her  own  freedom,  nor 
would  it  be  good  for  Sylvia  if  she  did. 

Yesterday  morning  Miss  Lavinia  received  a  letter 
from  Sylvester  Latham,  thanking  her  for  the  offer 
of  temporary  protection  for  his  daughter,  and  telling 
her,  in  curt  business  terms,  meant  to  be  affable,  to 
name  her  own  price  for  the  office. 

I  have  never  before  seen  the  ladylike  Lavinia 
Dorman  so  completely  and  ungovernably  angry.  I 
could  do  nothing  with  her,  and  last  evening  it  took 
the  united  efforts  of  Martin,  father,  and  Evan  to 
convince  her  that  it  was  not  a  real  affront.  Poor 
Mr.  Latham,  he  has  not  yet  gotten  beyond  money 
valuation  of  friendship ;  but  then  it  is  probably 
because  he  has  had  no  chance.  Perhaps  —  but  no, 
life  is  too  serious  just  now  in  that  quarter  for  me  to 
allow  myself  remotely  pleasant  perhapses. 

Miss  Lavinia  was  too  agitated  to  play  piquet 
to-night,  so  she  and  Martin  sat  in  the  porch  where 
the  light  from  the  hall  lamp  was  sufficient  to  enable 
them  to  play  a  couple  of  games  of  backgammon,  to 
steady  her  nerves,  she  said;  and  presently,  as  the 
dice  ceased  rattling,  Evan  gave  me  a  nudge  of  intel- 
ligence, and  looking  over  I  found  that  they  had 
reversed  the  board  and  were  playing  "  Give  away  " 
with  checkers. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     307 

"  After  this,  what  ? "  I  whispered  to  Evan. 

"  Jackstraws,"  he  answered,  shaking  with  silent 
laughter. 

**#*#*# 

Horace  Bradford  turned  his  mind  for  the  next  few 
days  to  the  many  things  about  the  place  that  needed 
his  attention,  resolving  that  he  would  let  a  week  or 
so  elapse  before  making  any  further  attempt  to  see 
Sylvia,  and  in  that  time  hoped  to  find  Miss  Lavinia 
at  home,  and  from  her  possibly  receive  some  light 
upon  the  gossip  about  Mr.  Bell,  as  well  as  news  of 
Sylvia  herself. 

The  sinking-fund  for  repairs  and  rebuilding  the 
house  that  he  and  his  mother  had  been  accumulating 
ever  since  he  had  made  his  own  way,  he  found  to  be 
in  a  healthy  condition.  A  new  hay  barn  and  poultry 
house  was  to  be  put  up  at  once ;  and,  as  soon  as  prac- 
ticable, his  wish  of  many  years,  to  restore  the  brick 
house,  that  had  been  marred  by  "lean-tos"  in  the 
wrong  places,  to  its  colonial  simplicity,  could  be  at 
least  begun. 

Every  day  until  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon he  gave  to  these  affairs,  and  then  he  went  to  his 
books.  But  here  again  he  met  with  a  strange  sur- 
prise, a  new  sensation,  —  he  could  neither  fix  his  mind 
upon  writing,  nor  take  in  what  he  read;  the  letters 


308     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

were  as  meaningless  as  fly  specks  on  the  pages. 
After  a  day  or  two  he  gave  up  the  attempt.  He  had 
worked  too  closely  during  the  last  term,  he  thought ; 
his  sight  did  not  register  on  his  brain,  —  he  had  heard 
of  such  cases ;  he  would  rest  a  week  or  so. 

Then  every  afternoon  he  walked  over  the  Ridge  to 
the  little  river  in  the  valley,  carrying  a  book  in  his 
pocket,  and  his  fishing-rod  as  a  sort  of  excuse,  and 
poling  an  old  flatboat  down-stream  to  a  shady  spot 
under  the  trees,  propped  his  rod  in  place,  where  by  a 
miracle  he  occasionally  caught  a  perch  or  bass,  sat 
looking  idly  into  the  water,  the  brim  of  an  old  felt 
hat  turned  down  about  his  eyes.  One  day,  near  the 
week's  end,  as  he  was  lounging  thus,  his  eye  was 
attracted  by  a  headline  in  a  bit  of  newspaper  in  which 
he  had  wrapped  his  bait  box  to  save  his  pocket.  It 
was  a  semi-local  paper  from  town,  one  that  his  mother 
took,  but  which  they  seldom  either  of  them  read,  and 
the  date  was  three  days  back.  He  turned  it  over 
idly,  pausing  as  he  did  so  to  pull  up  the  line  which 
was  being  jerked  violently,  but  only  by  a  mud  eel. 
Why  did  he  return  again  to  the  scrap  of  paper  when 
he  had  freed  his  hook  ?  His  eyes  caught  strange 
words,  and  his  hands  began  to  tremble  as  he  read.  It 
was  the  condensed  report  of  the  Latham  divorce  that 
was  now  going  the  rounds  of  the  journals. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     309 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  folded  the  paper,  put  it 
in  his  pocket,  poled  the  boat  with  vigorous  strokes  to 
the  landing-place,  and  strode  through  the  woods  and 
across  the  cornfields  homeward,  his  heart  beating 
tumultuously  until  he  seemed  almost  to  be  struggling 
with  suffocation. 

He  stopped  at  the  barn  and  harnessed  a  horse  to 
the  old  buggy,  passing  by  the  new  one  that  he  had 
recently  ordered  from  town,  and  then  went  into  the 
house,  where,  taking  off  his  slouchy  fishing  clothes,  he 
put  on  the  same  ceremonious  afternoon  wear  that  he 
would  have  worn  at  Northbridge  if  going  to  call,  put 
Sylvia's  handkerchief  in  his  inner  pocket,  and  went 
in  search  of  his  mother. 

He  found  her  in  the  kitchen,  tying  the  covers  upon 
countless  jars  of  currant  jam.  She  looked  surprised 
to  see  him  back  at  such  an  hour,  but  said  nothing,  as 
Esther  Nichols  was  close  by,  employed  in  wiping  off 
the  jars. 

"  I'm  going  over  to  Oaklands  for  a  drive,"  he  said, 
handing  her  the  scrap  of  newspaper  with  a  gesture 
that  meant  silence. 

"  Shall  I  wait  supper  for  you,  or  will  you  be  late  ?" 
she  said,  touching  his  hand  with  a  gesture  almost  of 
entreaty. 

"I  may  be  late,  but — yes,  you  may  wait  supper," 


3io    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

he  replied,  looking  back  at  her  in  going  out,  as  if  he 
wanted  to  carry  the  picture  well  forward  in  his  mind, 
against  any  forgetfulness. 

The  miles  between  Pine  Ridge  and  the  Bluffs 
seemed  endless.  He  had  at  first  intended  to  go  to 
Oaklands  village  to  see  Miss  Lavinia  and  gather  such 
tidings  as  he  could  of  the-  calamity  that  had  overtaken 
Sylvia ;  for  he  never  for  a  moment  questioned  but 
that  the  girl,  who  had  been  entirely  straightforward, 
even  in  days  of  college  pranks,  should  so  regard  the 
matter.  But  as  he  drove  along,  and  the  very  fact 
that  he  was  moving  toward  a  definite  end  calmed  him 
and  clarified  his  judgment,  he  resolved  to  go  directly 
to  Sylvia  herself.  He  would  certainly  do  this  if  he 
had  seen  the  announcement  of  her  parents'  deaths ; 
then  why  not  now,  when  their  love  that  gave  her 
birth  was  officially  and  publicly  declared  extinct  ? 

He  drove  through  the  wide  gateway  and  left  his 
horse  standing  by  a  stone  pillar  outside  the  porte- 
cochere,  —  the  beast  would  stand  anywhere  if  there 
was  a  bar  or  post  for  him  to  look  at,  —  and  walked 
up  the  steps  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  not  to  be 
gainsaid. 

"  Not  at  home,"  replied  the  singsong  voice  of 
Perkins,  in  answer  to  Bradford's  demand  for  Miss 
Latham,  Potts  and  Parker  having  already  gone  to 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     311 

open  the  Newport  house  for  the  renter,  as  a  staff  of 
servants  was  let  with  it,  and  then  he  added,  as  if  con- 
ferring a  favour,  "  and  Mrs.  Latham  has  gone  on  the 
coach  to  the  station  to  meet  some  guests,  the  last 
'ouse  party  before  she  sails." 

"  Before  she  sails,"  thought  Bradford,  numbly. 
Sylvia  was  going  ?  Could  he  believe  the  man  ? 
Should  he  go  through  the  formality  of  leaving  a  card 
that  she  might  not  get  ?  No,  he  would  go  home  and 
write  a  letter. 

Sylvia  kept  the  house  until  late  in  the  afternoon, 
these  days.  Then  she  slipped  out  by  the  servants' 
stairway,  and  through  the  garden,  to  walk  in  the  wood 
lane  that  ran  northward,  joining  the  two  parallel  high- 
roads ;  for  her  healthy  body  needed  air,  and  she  knew 
that  if  she  did. not  have  it,  she  could  not  control  her- 
self to  keep  peaceful  silence  for  even  the  few  days 
that  remained.  So  it  chanced  this  afternoon  that  she 
was  walking  to  and  fro  in  the  quiet  lane  where  the 
ferns  crept  down  quite  to  the  grassy  wheel  tracks, 
when  Perkins  said  those  repellent  words,  "  Not  at 
home." 

As  Bradford  turned  out  the  gate  and  noticed  that 
the  sun  was  already  setting,  he  thought  to  save  time 
by  cutting  through  the  almost  unused  lane  to  the  turn- 
pike that  led  directly  to  Pine  Ridge.  He  had  driven 


312     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL 

but  halfway  across,  when  a  flutter  of  light  garments 
a  little  way  ahead  attracted  him.  Could  it  be  ?  Yes, 
it  was  Sylvia,  in  truth,  and  at  the  moment  that  he  rec- 
ognized her  and  sprang  to  the  ground  she  heard  the 
approaching  hoofs  and  turned.  For  a  full  minute 
neither  spoke  nor  moved,  then  going  quickly  to  her 
and  stretching  out  both  hands,  he  said,  his  heart 
breaking  through  his  voice,  "  I  have  been  to  see  you. 
I  did  not  know  until  to-day." 

She  gave  her  hands,  and  in  another  moment  his 
strong  arms  held  her  fast  and  unresisting  —  the 
purifying  friendship  of  those  unconscious  years 
crystallized  and  perfected  at  love's  first  touch. 

They  said  but  very  little  as  they  walked  up  and 
down  the  lane  together,  for  half  an  hour;  but  as  the 
shadows  lengthened,  the  thought  came  equally  to 
both  —  "  What  should  they  do  next  ?  How  could 
they  part,  and  yet  how  stay  together  ? "  Horace, 
with  man's  barbarian  directness,  would  have  liked  to 
bear  her  home  to  safety  and  his  mother  ;  but  the 
shadow  of  usage  and  her  mother  stood  between,  for 
in  spite  of  the  hollow  mockery  of  it  all,  Sylvia  was 
still  of  her  household. 

"  I  must  take  you  home,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and 
to-morrow  I  will  come  —  all  shall  be  arranged." 

"To-night,"  she   whispered,  clasping   his   arm   in 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     313 

nervous  terror.  "  Come  back  with  me  and  tell  her 
to-night ;  then  I  shall  feel  sure,  and  not  as  if  it  was 
not  real.  And  when  you  have  told  her,  —  before 
whoever  may  be  there,  remember,  —  go  home;  do 
not  stop  to  listen  to  anything  she  may  say." 

They  drove  slowly  back,  and  went  up  the  steps 
to  the  house,  from  which  voices  and  laughter  came, 
hand  in  hand,  like  two  children ;  but  they  were 
children  no  longer  when  they  crossed  the  threshold 
and  saw  Monty  Bell  in  the  group  that  loitered  with 
Mrs.  Latham  in  the  reception  hall,  waiting  for  dinner 
to  be  announced. 

Sylvia's  thin  gown  was  wet  with  dew,  her  hair  was 
tossed  about,  her  eyes  big  with  excitement,  and  a  red 
spot  burned  in  each  cheek  in  startling  contrast  to 
her  pallor  —  all  of  which  gave  her  a  wild  and  .unusual 
beauty  that  absolutely  startled  as  well  as  shocked  her 
mother,  letting  her  think  for  a  second  that  Sylvia 
was  going  to  make  a  scene,  had  gone  mad,  perhaps, 
and  run  away,  and  that  the  tall  man  holding  her 
by  the  hand  had  found  her  and  brought  her  home. 

Taking  a  few  hasty  steps  forward,  and  dreading 
anything  disagreeably  tragic,  she  said :  "  Mr.  Brad- 
ford, I  believe.  What  is  it?  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Only  this,  that  Miss  Sylvia  has  promised  to  be 
my  wife,  and  that,  as  her  mother,  we  have  come  to 


314    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

tell  you  of  it  before  I  go  home  to  tell  my  own." 
Horace  Bradford  drew  himself  up  to  every  inch  of 
his  full  height  as  he  spoke,  bowed  to  Mrs.  Latham, 
then  led  Sylvia  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  saying, 
"  Until  to-morrow,"  and  walked  quietly  out  of  the 
house. 

No  one  spoke.  Then  Mrs.  Latham,  choking  with 
rage,  feeling  herself  helplessly  at  bay  (Sylvia  was 
of  age,  and  she  could  not  even  assume  authority 
under  the  circumstances),  collapsed  on  a  divan  in 
modified  hysterics,  and  Monty  Bell,  completely 
thunderstruck,  finally  broke  the  silence  by  his 
characteristic  exclamation,  "  I'll  be  damned  !  " 

******* 

After  their  belated  supper,  when  Esther  Nichols 
had  gone  over  to  a  neighbour's,  Horace,  sitting  by 
his  mother's  side,  out  in  the  honeysuckled  porch, 
where  the  sphinx  moths  whirred  like  humming-birds 
of  night,  holding  her  hands  in  his,  told  her  all.  And 
she,  stifling  the  mother  pain  that,  like  a  birth  pang, 
expected  yet  dreaded,  must  come  at  first  when  the 
other  woman,  no  matter  how  welcome,  steps  between, 
folded  his  hands  close,  as  if  she  held  him  again  a 
baby  in  her  arms,  and  said,  smiling  through  vague 
tears,  "To-morrow  we  will  go  together  to  her,  my 
blessed  son." 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     315 

"  I  cannot  ask  you  to  do  that;  there  are  reasons  — 
I  will  bring  Sylvia  to  you  later,  when  her  mother  has 
gone,"  he  answered  hastily,  resolving  that  he  would 
do  anything  to  shield  her  self-respect  from  the 
possible  shock  of  meeting  that  other  mother. 

"Horace,  you  forget  yourself,  and  your  father 
too,"  she  said  almost  sternly.  "  I  am  country  bred,  but 
still  I  know  the  world's  ways.  Your  father's  wife 
will  go  first  to  greet  her  who  will  be  yours ;  you  need 
not  fear  for  me,"  and  he  sat  silent. 

That  next  afternoon,  when  Horace's  first  and  last 
love  met,  they  looked  into  each  other's  hearts  and 
saw  the  same  image  there,  while  Mrs.  Latham  lay 
on  the  lounge  in  her  room,  raging  within,  that  again 
her  tongue  had  failed  her  in  her  own  house,  and 
realizing  that,  woman  of  the  world  as  she  aimed  to 
be,  the  "  egg  woman  "  had  rendered  her  helpless  by 
mere  force  of  homely  courtesy.  Presently  she  rose, 
and  railing  and  scolding  the  bewildered  maid,  sent  a 
message  to  New  York  to  transfer  her  passage,  if 
possible,  to  an  earlier  steamer. 


XIII 
GOSSIP   AND   THE   BUG   HUNTERS 

July  1 8.  It  is  such  a  deadly  sin  to  marry  outside 
of  the  limited  set  that  is  socially  registered,  that  I 
now  understand  why  many  of  the  Whirlpoolers  are 
mentally  inbred,  almost  to  the  vanishing  point,  so  that 
they  have  lost  the  capacity  of  thinking  for  themselves, 
and  must  necessarily  follow  a  leader. 

Sylvia  Latham's  engagement  to  Horace  Bradford 
has  caused  a  much  greater  sensation  than  her 
mother's  divorce.  To  be  sure,  every  one  who  has  met 
Horace,  not  only  fails  to  find  anything  objectionable 
about  him,  but  accords  him  great  powers  of  attraction ; 
yet  they  declare  in  the  same  breath  that  the  affair  will 
not  do  for  a  precedent,  and  deplore  its  radical  influence. 

To-day  we  have  settled  down  to  midsummer  quiet 
and  to  a  period  of  silence  after  much  talking.  The 
Bluffs  are  quite  deserted  except  by  a  bevy  of  children 
left  with  governesses  while  their  parents  are  yachting 
or  in  Europe,  and  the  servants  in  charge  of  the  vari- 
ous houses.  But  a  trail  of  discontent  is  left  behind, 

316 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     317 

for  these  servants,  by  their  conspicuous  idleness,  are 
having  a  very  demoralizing  effect  upon  the  help  in 
the  plain  houses  hereabout,  who  are  necessarily 
expected  to  do  more  work  for  lower  wages. 

I  am  fully  realizing,  also,  that  the  excitement  of 
living  other  people's  lives,  which  we  cannot  control, 
through  sympathetic  imagination,  is  even  more  wear- 
ing than  meeting  one's  own  responsibilities.  A 
certain  amount  of  separateness  —  I  use  the  word  in 
an  entirely  opposite  meaning  to  that  of  aloofness  — 
is,  I  find,  necessary  to  every  member  of  our  household, 
and  this  chance  for  intimacy  with  oneself  is  a  luxury 
denied  to  those  who  live  all  their  lives  taking  joy  and 
sorrow  equally  in  a  crowd. 

Even  the  boys,  young  as  they  are,  recognize  it 
unconsciously,  and  have  separate  tree  lairs,  and 
neither  may  enter  the  other's,  without  going  through 
some  mysterious  and  wonderful  ceremony  and  sign 
language,  by  which  permission  is  asked  and  granted. 

There  are  often  days  when  father  sits  in  his  study 
with  closed  door  or  drives  over  the  hills  without 
desire  for  even  the  boys  as  companions.  This  need 
not  signify  that  he  is  either  ill  or  worried, — it  is 
simply  the  need  of  separateness.  The  same  thing 
applies  to  Evan  when  he  sometimes  slips  out  through 
the  garden  at  night,  without  word  or  sign,  and  is  only 


3i8     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

traceable  by  the  beacon  his  cigar  point  makes,  as  he 
moves  among  the  trees,  until  this  also  vanishes,  while 
my  attic  corner  and  the  seat  at  the  end  of  the  wild 
walk  offer  me  similar  relief. 

At  least  the  attic  did  until  Martin  Cortright,  at  my 
own  invitation,  established  a  rival  lair  at  the  opposite 
end.  I  did  not  think  that  it  would  matter,  the 
presence  of  this  quiet  man  barricaded  by  his  books 
and  papers,  but  it  does,  because  the  charm  of  isola- 
tion is  destroyed.  I  would  not  have  done  otherwise, 
however ;  I  have  all  outdoors,  and  he  will  have 
returned  to  New  York  to  find  winter  quarters,  and 
arrange  for  the  publication  of  the  first  volume  of  his 
history  when  autumn  and  shut-in  time  draws  near. 

Mrs.  Latham  sailed  last  week,  and  Sylvia  is  now  in 
New  York  visiting  her  father  at  his  hotel  and  arranging 
her  future  plans.  To-morrow  she  returns,  and  together 
with  Lavinia  Dorman  goes  to  the  Alton  cottage  until 
late  August  or  early  September,  when  her  wedding  is 
expected  to  take  place. 

At  the  last  moment  Mrs.  Latham  changed  her  plan 
of  leaving  the  Bluff  cottage  in  the  charge  of  servants, 
had  all  her  personal  belongings  moved  away,  and 
offered  the  place  for  sale. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith,  who,  being 
a  sort  of  honorary  stewardess  of  the  Colony,  usually 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     319 

remains  a  full  week  after  the  breaking-up  time,  and 
frequently  runs  in  to  report  progress,  "  she's  not  com- 
ing back;  being  divorced  she  doesn't  need  to  claim 
residence  here.  The  place  is  so  convenient  to  town, 
too,  but  I  can't  really  blame  her,  —  though  of  course 
I'm  glad  poor  Sylvia's  to  be  happy  in  her  own  way, 
and  all  that,  for  it's  plain  to  be  seen  with  one  eye  she's 
too  slow  to  go  her  mother's  pace  —  you  couldn't  ex- 
pect Vivvy  Latham,  over  all  the  hurdles  but  one,  and 
almost  at  the  end  of  the  race,  to  relish  her  daughter's 
mother-in-law  being  in  the  egg  trade  in  the  very 
neighbourhood. 

"At  first  everybody  thought  that  the  Bradfords, 
mother  and  son,  would  probably  give  up  work  and 
float  on  Sylvester  J.  Latham's  money,  for  they  say  (to 
spite  Viwy,  most  likely)  he  took  to  Horace  Bradford 
at  the  first,  for  what  did  the  young  fellow  do  but  go 
straight  to  town  and  look  Sylvester  up,  and  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it  before  the  gossips  could  even  twist 
their  tongues  around  the  affair. 

"  Sylvester  thought  he  could  handle  Bradford  to 
suit  himself,  move  him  to  New  York,  jam  him  into 
business,  cut  up  the  farm  in  house  lots,  reorganize  his 
affairs,  and  declare  a  dividend  out  of  him  for  his  own 
benefit,  as  he  does  with  lame  railroads,  —  but  not  a 
bit  of  it! 


320     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

" '  With  what  you  may  choose  to  do  for  Sylvia  per- 
sonally, it  would  be  selfish  for  me  to  interfere;  but 
our  way  of  living  can  only  be  planned  upon  the  basis 
of  what  I  earn,'  said  Horace,  looking  Mr.  Latham  in 
the  face,  and  he's  a  big  man  too,  —  Sylvia  gets  her 
height  from  him. 

"  It  rather  knocked  Sylvester  out,  because  it  was  a 
kind  of  spunk  he'd  never  met,  and  he  told  Jenks- 
Smith  about  it  Thought  they  didn't  speak  ?  Oh 
yes,  they're  thick  again,  just  now,  over  some  kind  of  a 
deal. 

"  Did  you  know  Jenks-Smith  had  bought  Vivvy's 
house  here  ?  Yes,  the  deed  was  passed  the  day  she 
sailed.  We've  got  to  keep  the  Bluffs  select,  you 
know,  and  if  the  house  was  put  on  the  market,  good- 
ness knows  who  might  buy  it,  just  to  get  in  with  us. 

"  Mr.  Latham  had  an  idea  of  taking  it  and  giving 
it  to  Sylvia,  but  they  wouldn't  have  that  either,  —  are 
just  fixing  up  the  old  house  a  bit,  and  going  to  sum- 
mer at  the  farm,  while  the  old  lady  will  keep  on 
selling  eggs  the  same  as  ever.  Not  but  what  she's  a 
thoroughbred  all  right,  though  in  a  cheap  stable.  I 
was  down  at  Viwy's  the  day  she  came  to  call  on 
Sylvia!  Just  as  quiet  and  cool,  except  that  her 
hands  in  the  openwork  silk  mits  shook,  as  if  her  son 
was  a  duke.  I  thought  there  would  be  a  lively  row, 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     321 

and  I  wished  myself  out  of  it,  but  Vivvy  hadn't  a 
chance  to  strike  out  until  the  old  lady  got  up  to  go, 
then  she  only  said  :  '  You  must  not  understand  that  I 
approve  of  Sylvia's  folly,  or  in  any  way  give  my 
consent  to  this  rash  engagement.  I  cannot  prevent 
it,  that  is  all.' 

"  The  old  lady's  eyes  flashed,  and  I  thought,  now 
for  it;  but  she  only  looked  Viwy  through  and 
through,  and  said  very  clearly :  '  Most  brides  are 
better  for  their  mother's  blessing,  but  under  the 
circumstances  I  think  we  prefer  to  do  without  it.' " 

Well-meaning  Lady  of  the  Bluffs,  I'm  really  acquir- 
ing a  sort  of  affection  for  her  in  spite  of  her  crudity. 
If  all  the  Whirlpoolers  were  like  her,  the  pool  might 
be  a  noisy  torrent,  but  never  a  dangerous  one. 

******* 

This  is  Lavinia  Dorman's  last  day  with  me,  and 
I  know  she  is  really  sorry  to  go,  in  spite  of  a  sort 
of  pleasurable  responsibility  and  excitement  she  feels 
in  managing  Sylvia's  affairs  for  a  time. 

She  waked  up  with  a  bad  headache  —  a  rare  thing 
for  her  —  and  after  breakfast  seemed  so  forlorn  and 
blue  that  I  coaxed  her  into  my  room  and  petted  her 
for  a  while,  almost  as  I  would  one  of  the  children  ; 
and  as  she  no  longer  conceals  the  fact  of  the  false 
front  from  me,  I  took  it  off,  brushed  and  brushed  her 


322     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

lovely  hair  until  it  grew  supple  and  alive,  and  began 
to  glisten,  and  the  pain  gradually  slipped  through  it 
into  the  air ;  then  I  drew  it  up  cushionwise  from  her 
forehead  and  coiled  it  loosely  on  top,  and  she,  declar- 
ing that  my  ringers  had  a  magic  touch,  spent  the  rest 
of  the  morning  at  my  desk  in  writing  letters. 

The  lovable  woman  who  has  no  one  specially  to 
love  her  is  a  common  tragedy  of  everyday  life. 
Strangely  enough  it  more  often  draws  ridicule  than 
sympathy,  and  it  seems  to  be  always  considered  the 
woman's  own  fault,  instead  of  a  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances, woven  often  of  self-sacrifice,  mistaken 
duty,  and  the  studied  suppression  of  natural  emo- 
tions. 

I  think  that  both  Miss  Lavinia  and  Martin  Cort- 
right  dread  the  going  back  to  their  old  existence,  and 
yet  I  am  not  sure  that  either  of  them  would  consent 
to  change  it  in  any  way,  in  spite  of  their  growlings 
at  the  modern  conditions  of  life  in  New  York. 
They  have  learned  to  lean  upon  the  very  restric- 
tions that  cramp  them,  until  the  idea  of  cutting  free 
seems  as  impossible  as  for  the  bulky  woman  to  sever 
the  stay-lace  that  at  once  suffocates  and  supports 
her. 

Martin  Cortright  stayed  to  luncheon  to-day.  Not 
that  it  is  an  unusual  occurrence,  but  he  wished  tq 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     323 

have  a  long  afternoon  to  finish  reading  a  certain 
portion  of  his  manuscript  to  Miss  Lavinia  before  her 
flitting  in  the  morning. 

We  were  seated  at  the  table  when  she  came  in 
hurriedly,  apologizing  for  being  late,  saying  that  she 
had  become  so  absorbed  in  finishing  her  letters  that 
she  did  not  realize  that  it  was  even  noon.  I  did  not 
look  at  her  particularly  until  a  few  moments  later, 
when  Martin,  after  fussing  with  his  bread  a  good 
deal,  looked  up  and  said,  with  a  charming  smile, 
"  What  a  very  becoming  gown  you  have  on  to-day, 
Miss  Lavinia." 

"  Yes,"  said  father,  "  I  was  thinking  precisely  the 
same  thing  myself,  so  you  see  that  in  spite  of  our 
condemning  your  sex  for  paying  so  much  attention 
to  clothes,  we  men  are  the  first  to  note  the  result  of 
them." 

Miss  Lavinia  looked  puzzled.  She  was  too  much 
the  politic  woman  of  the  world  to  say  that  the  dimity 
gown  was  the  same  one  that  she  had  worn  for  the 
two  or  three  days  previous ;  besides,  the  fact  would 
have  cast  a  doubt  upon  their  judgment,  and  she  was 
particular  in  all  such  little  details  of  good  breeding ; 
so  she  parried  the  compliment  deftly,  and  straight- 
way fell  to  pondering  as  to  what  circumstance  the 
remark  might  refer.  Glancing  toward  the  open 


324     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

window,  she  caught  a  reflection  of  herself  where  the 
glass,  backed  by  the  dark  green  curtain,  made  a 
mirror.  She  had  forgotten  to  rearrange  her  hair, 
and  her  burnished  silver-shot  locks  remained  rolled 
back  lightly  from  her  white  forehead  without  the 
ugly,  concealing  front !  I  rejoiced  inwardly,  for  the 
spontaneous  tribute  to  the  improvement  by  those  two 
dear,  stupid,  discriminating  men,  has  settled  the  fronts 
in  a  way  in  which  no  arguments  of  mine  could,  for 
to-night  she  came  to  dinner  not  only  with  her  own 
emancipated  hair,  but  wearing  a  bit  of  red  geranium 
stuck  fetchingly  in  the  puff. 

August  i.  Sylvia  has  returned,  and  Miss  Lavinia 
has  gone  to  her,  Lucy  arid  the  portly  cook  having 
arrived  from  New  York  last  night,  in  company  with 
Josephus,  confined  in  a  large  hamper  borrowed  from 
the  fishmonger,  in  the  top  of  which  a  ventilator  had 
been  introduced.  Josephus  was  naturally  indignant 
when  first  let  out,  and  switched  his  tail  in  wrath, 
declining  to  recognize  his  mistress,  and  starting  to 
explore  the  house  like  an  evil  spirit.  This  morning  I 
found  him  calmly  perched  on  our  woodshed  roof,  gaz- 
ing wickedly  at  the  boys'  banty  chickens  in  the  coop 
below.  I  predict  that  he  gets  into  trouble,  unless  his 
silver  collar,  like  a  badge  of  aristocracy,  protects  him. 
But  what  can  you  expect  of  a  misguided  Whirlpool 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     325 

cat,  whose  only  conception  of  a  bird  is  a  dusty  street 
sparrow,  when  he  meets  face  to  face  the  delicious  and 
whetting  elusiveness  of  a  banty  chick  or  a  young 
robin. 

Poor  Sylvia  is  nervously  tired  out,  and  the  month's 
rest  will  be  a  real  boon.  Her  plans  are  quite  settled, 
and  there  is  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  rest  until  the 
time  comes  to  carry  them  out.  She  and  Horace  are 
to  be  married  the  last  week  in  August,  so  that  they 
will  have  time  for  a  Canadian  trip  before  College 
begins  and  they  return  to  settle  down  in  a  scrap  of  a 
house  in  Northbridge. 

August  seems  to  be  considered  an  unusual  month 
for  a  wedding ;  but  it  suits  the  circumstances,  and 
as  Sylvia  has  decided  to  be  married  quite  privately 
here  at  Oaklands,  for  her  own  sake,  as  well  as  for 
Mrs.  Bradford's  convenience,  she  wisely  wishes  to 
have  it  over  before  the  possible  return  of  the  Whirl- 
poolers. 

Horace  had  hoped  that  his  mother  would  join  them 
in  Northbridge,  but  she  said  "  No,"  very  firmly, 
adding,  with  a  quaint,  twinkling  smile,  "  Horace, 
nobody  ever  loved  each  other  closer  than  your  father 
and  I,  but  there  were  times  in  the  beginning  when 
ever  so  well  meaning  a  third  finger  in  our  pie  would 
have  spoiled  the  baking.  Best  leave  old  mother  on 


326    THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

the  farm  until  by  and  by,  when  she  can't  tell  a 
fresh  egg  from  a  bad  one  any  longer." 

So  Horace  comes  down  twice  a  week  to  visit 
Sylvia,  and  Miss  Lavinia  often  drives  to  Pine  Ridge 
with  her  and  leaves  her  for  a  day,  so  that  Mrs.  Brad- 
ford may  share  the  pleasant  woman's  talk  of  linen 
for  table  and  bed,  and  other  details  of  a  bridal 
outfit. 

We  all  missed  Miss  Lavinia  when  she  left,  that 
is,  all  but  the  boys,  and  they  hailed  the  change 
with  joy,  as  giving  them  another  house  to  roam  in 
and  out  of.  How  much  of  the  joy  of  childhood 
that  we  so  envy  comes  from  their  freedom  from 
prejudice,  the  ability  they  have  for  adapting  them- 
selves. 

Martin  was  so  distrait  for  a  time  that  father 
absolutely  ventured  to  tease  him  a  little,  whereupon 
he  turned  stoutly  about  and  declared  :  "I  have 
never  denied  the  inspiration  and  value  of  congenial 
female  society,  and  the  mere  fact  that  circumstances 
have  shut  me  from  it  so  much  of  late  years  makes 
me  all  the  more  appreciative  of  present  privileges. 
Oh,  Dick,  old  friend,  isn't  it  some  credit  to  a  man 
who  has  lived  backward  almost  from  his  birth,  if, 
after  he's  sixty,  he  realizes  it  and  tries  to  catch  up 
with  the  present  ?  It  seems  to  me  as  if  the  best 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL    327 

things  had  always  been  just  within  my  grasp,  only  to 
slip  away  again,  through  unforeseen  circumstances, 
and  my  ill  luck  reminds  me  of  a  story  and  picture 
in  a  comic  paper  that  the  boys  were  chuckling  over 
last  night.  It  was  of  a  well-intentioned  beetle  who 
fattened  a  nice  green  caterpillar  for  its  family's 
thanksgiving  dinner,  and  the  thing  went  and  spun 
itself  into  a  cocoon  the  night  before ! " 

Martin  Cortright  at  times  verges  on  the  pathetic, 
but  always  cures  himself  by  his  appreciation  of  his 
own  limitations  before  he  reaches  the  bore  stage.  He 
too  is  taking  a  short  vacation  from  work,  or  rather  I 
should  say  that  he  has  developed  industry  in  a  new 
direction  and  become  absorbed  in  entomology,  to  the 
extent  of  waging  war  on  the  tent  caterpillars  that  are 
disfiguring  both  the  orchards  and  the  wild  cherry  trees 
of  the  highways  with  their  untidy  filmy  nests,  leaving 
the  foliage  prematurely  brown  and  sere,  from  their 
ravages.  Yesterday,  in  driving  home  from  Pine  Ridge 
with  Sylvia,  we  noticed  that  even  the  wood  edges  had 
the  appearance  of  being  scorched  by  fire,  and  many 
of  the  old  orchards  where  we  go  in  May  for  apple 
blossoms  are  wrecks  meshed  in  the  treacherous  slimy 
webs. 

Martin's  methods  are  regular  and  very  simple,  but 
he  goes  about  his  task  each  day  as  if  the  matter  was 


328     THE   PEOPLE    OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

a  marvel  of  military  strategy.  First  he  puts  a  book 
ostentatiously  in  one  pocket  and  a  flask  of  alcohol  in 
the  other.  Next  he  takes  his  torch,  consisting  of  a 
piece  of  sponge  wired  to  an  old  rake  handle,  which  he 
keeps  on  the  back  stoop,  and  makes  sure  that  it  is 
tight  and  secure,  finally  searching  me  out  to  say  that 
in  case  he  meets  Miss  Lavinia,  have  I  any  message 
for  her. 

Why  he  does  not  keep  his  outfit  up  at  Martha's  I 
do  not  know;  perhaps  because  of  Timothy's  keen 
tongue. 

Miss  Lavinia,  after  her  morning  housekeeping  is 
over,  takes  her  work  bag  to  the  narrow  cottage 
porch  and  apparently  gives  herself  up  to  the  task 
of  making  pin-cushions  for  Sylvia  or  embroidering 
initials  on  napery.  Suddenly  she  will  get  up,  say 
that  her  feet  are  falling  asleep  and  that  she  needs  a 
walk  to  restore  her  circulation.  Will  Sylvia  go  with 
her?  Sylvia,  after  pretending  to  consider,  thinks 
not,  making  some  excuse  of  its  being  too  warm  or 
that  she  expects  Horace  that  day.  Presently  two 
prim  people  walking  in  opposite  directions  meet  and, 
taking  the  same  path,  may  be  seen  any  morning 
along  the  less  frequented  roads  and  orchard  paths, 
sometimes  repairing  the  torch  that  has  a  constant 
tendency  to  lose  its  head,  sometimes  watching  the 


J-Ju^ters. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     329 

destruction  by  fire  of  an  unusually  wicked  worm  city, 
and  frequently  with  their  heads  stuck  into  some  sus- 
picious bush,  where  they  appear  to  be  watching  in- 
visible things  with  breathless  interest. 

Father  and  I  chanced  upon  them  when  thus  em- 
ployed the  other  morning.  Martin  turned  about  and 
in  the  most  serious  manner  began  to  dilate  upon  the 
peculiarities  of  worms  in  general  and  particular,  as 
well  as  of  the  appropriateness  of  their  study  by  the 
book  collector,  as  the  score  and  a  half  insects  that 
injure  books  and  their  bindings  are  not  worms  at  all, 
having  none  of  the  characteristics  of  the  veritable 
book  worm  Sitodrcpa  fanicea,  to  all  of  which  Miss 
Lavinia  listened  with  devout  attention. 

"  What  makes  them  act  so  ?  "  I  said,  half  to  myself, 
as  we  drove  on,  and  father  stopped  shaking  with 
laughter.  "There  isn't  the  slightest  reason  why 
they  should  not  go  to  walk  together ;  why  do  they 
manoeuvre  with  all  the  transparency  of  ostriches  ?  " 

"  It's  another  manifestation  of  suppressed  youth," 
said  father,  wiping  his  eyes,  "  upon  the  principle 
that  the  boy  would  rather  slip  out  of  the  window  to 
go  coasting  at  night  than  ask  leave  and  walk  out 
publicly,  and  that  when  a  young  girl  begins  to  grow 
romantic,  she  often  takes  infinite  pains  to  go  round 
the  back  way  to  meet  some  one  who  is  quite  wel- 


330    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

come  at  the  front  door.  When  young  folks  have  not 
had  a  chance  to  do  these  things,  and  the  motive  for 
them  lies  dormant,  heaven  alone  knows  how  or  when 
it  will  break  loose." 

Others,  however,  have  observed,  and  the  "  Bug 
Hunters  "  has  now  come  to  be  the  local  nickname  of 
these  two  most  respectable  middle-aged  people  with 
ancestors. 

Josephus,  who  has  been  leading  a  sporting  life  for 
many  days,  or  rather  nights,  has  at  last  returned 
minus  his  long  tail  with  which  he  used  to  express 
his  displeasure  in  such  magnificent  sweeps.  Miss 
Lavinia  is  in  tears,  and  wishes  to  have  a  reward 
offered  for  the  apprehension  of  the  doer  of  the  deed. 

Evan  says  that  if  she  does,  and  thus  acknowledges 
the  cat  as  hers,  she  may  be  deluged  with  bills  for 
poultry,  as  he  has  been  hearing  weird  tales  on  the 
train,  such  as  are  often  current  among  commuters 
who  are  not  zoologists,  of  a  great  black  lynx  that  has 
been  invading  chicken  coops  and  killing  for  pleasure, 
as  his  victims  are  usually  left  on  the  ground.  Thus 
has  country  freedom  corrupted  the  manners  of  a 
polite  cat,  and  at  the  same  time  a  hay  knife  (proba- 
bly) has  rendered  him  tailless. 

August  20.  Summer  is  at  high  tide.  How  I 
dread  its  ebbing ;  yet  even  now  the  hastening  nights 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     331 

are  giving  warning.  Evan  has  been  taking  a  vaca- 
tion, and  we  have  spent  many  days,  we  four,  follow- 
ing the  northward  windings  of  the  river  in  a  wide, 
comfortable  boat  and  lunching  in  the  woods.  We 
are  pagans  these  days,  basking  in  the  sun,  cooling  in 
the  shade,  and  living  a  whole  life  between  sunrise 
and  sunset.  The  boys  are  showing  unconscious 
kinship  with  wood  things,  and  getting  a  wholesome 
touch  of  the  earth  in  their  thoughts. 

I  am  sure  that  the  mind  often  needs  a  vacation 
more  than  the  body,  and  yet  the  condition  of  change 
that  bears  the  name  of  rest  frequently  merely  gives 
the  head  fresh  work. 

How  far  away  the  Whirlpool  and  its  people  seem 
as  we  sit  perhaps  on  one  of  the  many  tiny  river 
islands  enjoying  this  time  separateness,  not  as  indi- 
viduals, but  as  a  family,  for  the  whirl  of  the  pool  is 
tiresome  even  to  watch.  I  have  felt  old  these  last 
three  months,  and  I  suppose  it  is  a  still  further 
carrying  out  of  the  allegory  and  penalty  of  eating 
the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge;  only  the  discipline 
does  seem  a  little  hard  when,  having  no  desire  either 
to  pluck  or  taste  the  apple,  one  stands  actually  away 
with  hands  safely  behind  back,  and  yet  has  the  fruit 
absolutely  thrust  between  unwilling  lips. 

Even   the   feathered   things  about  us  are  in  this 


332     THE   PEOPLE    OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

mood ;  their  family  life  is  over,  the  companionship  of 
fall  travel  has  not  begun,  and  the  woods  are  full  of 
moulting  birds  choosing  this  separateness  in  prepa- 
ration for  the  tension  of  new  flight  and  its  perils. 
Everything,  in  short,  in  wild  nature  has  its  corre- 
sponding note  in  our  own  humanity,  —  the  sweating 
of  the  corn,  the  moulting  of  the  bird,  the  contraction 
of  the  earth  by  frost,  all  have  a  kindred  season  or 
experience  in  the  heart. 

Then,  too,  the  August  nights  —  so  heavy  with  the 
intensity  of  sleep  that  is  akin  to  sleeplessness,  broken 
by  peremptory  thunder  voices  and  searching  light- 
ning, or  again  enveloped  by  moonlight  that  floods 
the  room  —  shut  out  the  world  until,  kneeling  in 
its  tide  between  the  little  white  beds,  I  can  feel  the 
refrain  of  that  hymn  of  mother's  that  father  taught 
me  long  ago  to  say  to  myself  in  the  night  when  she 
had  gone  away  from  sight  and  I  was  lonely :  — 

"  Father,  on  thy  heart  I  lean 
When  the  world  comes  not  between." 

******* 

August  30.  Sylvia  and  Horace  were  married 
under  sunshine  yesterday  in  the  little  chantry  of  the 
church  that  is  used  in  winter  and  for  week-day 
services.  To-day  the  cold  northeasterly  storm  has 
come,  under  cover  of  which  August  so  often  disap- 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     333 

pears  and  September  enters  the  marshes  upon  the 
wings  of  low-flying  plovers,  to  the  discordant  call  of 
the  first  waterfowl  of  the  return  migration. 

Mr.  Latham  came  to  the  wedding.  In  fact,  he  has 
been  here  several  times  during  the  month.  He  is  a 
well-built  man,  under  sixty,  dark  and  taciturn,  and 
would  be  handsome  but  for  the  hard  expression  of 
his  face. 

His  attitude  toward  the  world  has  seemed  to  be 
one  of  perpetual  parry  and  self-defence ;  of  course 
he  may  have  good  reason  for  this  distrust,  or,  as 
Evan  says,  he  may  have  brought  the  necessity  upon 
himself  by  his  constant  severity  of  attack  on  others. 
Yesterday  I  partly  changed  my  mind  about  him. 
He  evidently  once  had  tender  feelings,  but,  from 
what  cause  who  can  say,  they  have  in  some  way 
been  compressed  and  frozen  until  they  exist  only  as 
hurts. 

Sylvia  was  married  in  bridal  white.  She  had 
wished  to  wear  a  travelling  gown  and  go  away  from 
the  chantry  door,  but  Miss  Lavinia  argued  her  out 
of  the  notion,  saying,  "  Horace  has  the  right  to  a 
pretty  bride,  even  if  you  do  not  care."  It  would 
have  taken  but  very  little,  after  the  strain  of  the  last 
two  months,  to  make  Sylvia  morbid  and  old  beyond 
her  years,  her  one  thought  seeming  to  be  to  get  away 


334    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

from  the  surroundings  of  the  past  year  and  begin  to 
live  anew. 

Our  group,  and  a  dozen  friends  of  the  Bradfords, 
including  some  from  Northbridge  who  belonged  to 
both,  filled  the  little  chapel  which  Horace,  Martin, 
and  Evan  had  trimmed  with  flowers  wholly  from  our 
garden.  At  the  last  moment,  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith, 
whom  we  thought  abroad,  dashed  up  in  a  depot 
hack,  perspiring  and  radiant,  her  smart  gown  having 
a  most  peculiar  and  unnatural  looking  promontory 
on  the  chest.  "  No,  my  dear,  I'm  not  in  Carlsbad. 
Jenks-Smith  was  called  back  on  business,  and  I 
sniffed  the  wedding  in  the  air  and  hooked  on,  —  only 
arrived  last  night.  Have  you  seen  the  papers  ?  Hush, 
I'll  tell  you  later,"  and  her  voice  sank  into  an  awed 
whisper,  and  she  gave  a  startled  look  as  the  bride  en- 
tered on  her  father's  arm,  with  Ian  and  Richard  as 
her  only  attendants.  Having  heard  so  much  talk  of 
marrying  and  of  weddings,  they  had  asked  Sylvia  to 
let  them  be  "  bridesmaids,"  and  it  seemed  she  really 
wanted  them.  Their  faces  were  solemn  to  the  verge  of 
comedy  as  they  walked  hand  in  hand  before  her,  their 
feet  in  brand-new  pumps,  keeping  step  and  point- 
ing out  carefully,  while  their  evident  satisfaction 
brought  a  smile  like  a  ray  of  belated  sunshine  to  the 
face  of  the  serious  bride. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     335 

I  watched  Mr.  Latham,  usually  so  immovable, 
during  the  ceremony  as  he  stepped  back  from  the 
altar  into  the  shadows,  when  he  left  Sylvia  finally 
with  Horace.  His  shoulders  lost  their  squareness, 
his  head  drooped ;  but  when  I  saw  that  it  was  to  hide 
the  tears  that  filled  his  eyes,  I  looked  away.  Father 
says  he  has  seen  this  type  of  man,  contracted  by 
money-getting,  hardened  by  selfish  misunderstand- 
ing, recover  himself,  soften,  and  grow  young  again 
at  the  transforming  touch  of  grandchildren.  Who 
knows,  Sylvia  may  find  her  childhood's  father  again 
some  day. 

When  we  went  back  to  the  cottage  for  luncheon, 
the  bump  in  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith's  corsage  was  removed, 
and  proved  to  be  a  gift  for  Sylvia,  —  a  thick  leather 
case,  holding  a  rich  neck  ornament  of  diamonds,  a 
sort  of  collar  with  pendants,  for  the  Lady  of  the 
Bluffs  is  nothing  if  not  generous. 

"  I  got  it  in  this  way  without  paying  a  cent  of 
duty,"  she  said  in  a  stage  whisper  to  Miss  Lavinia 
and  me  in  the  hall,  as  she  struggled  to  release  the  box, 
wrenching  off  a  waist  hook  or  two  as  she  did  so. 

"Jenks-Smith  said  it  didn't  look  natural,  and  I'd 
surely  be  spotted,  but  I  said  I'd  like  to  see  mere  hired 
men  try  to  tell  a  lady  how  stout  or  how  thin  she  had 
a  right  to  be.  Almost  too  gorgeous  for  a  professor's 


336     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

wife  ?  Not  a  bit ;  Miss  Lavinia,  you're  not  advanced. 
Nobody  knows  nowadays,  at  the  launching,  how  any- 
body's going  to  turn  out,  —  whether  they'll  sink  or 
float,  —  and  diamonds  are  an  all-right  cargo,  anyway. 
If  she  moves  up,  she  can  wear  'em,  if  she  slumps,  she 
can  sell  'em,  and  if  she  just  drifts  along  on  the  level, 
she  can  look  at  'em  once  in  a  time.  No,  my  dear, 
diamonds  are  a  consolation  that  no  woman  can  afford 
to  miss." 

Considering  her  usual  careless  good  nature,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith  was  very  fussy 
during  the  luncheon,  ill  at  ease,  and  strangely  anxious 
to  hurry  the  departure  of  Sylvia  and  Horace.  The 
guests,  all  but  ourselves,  left  first,  then  Mr.  Latham, 
who  went  upstairs  to  take  leave  of  his  daughter  alone. 
When  Sylvia  finally  came  down,  her  colour  had  re- 
turned and  she  looked  her  radiant  self  again  as  she 
kissed  Miss  Lavinia  and  Mrs.  Bradford,  and  went 
down  the  steps  holding  Horace,  not  by  the  arm,  but 
clinging  to  his  hand. 

As  the  carriage  disappeared  around  the  bend  of 
the  road,  and  as  we  stood  looking  at  one  another, 
feeling  for  a  second  the  reaction  and  the  sense  of  an 
empty  house  that  always  follows  the  going  of  a  bride, 
the  Lady  of  the  Bluffs  sank  into  a  deep  chair  ex- 
claiming, "  Thank  the  Lord,  they've  gone !  " 


THE    PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     337 


"Why,  what  is  it?  Are  you  ill?"  cried  father, 
who  was  just  leaving,  coming  quickly  to  her  side. 

"  It's  this.  I  wanted  to  get  her  started  north 
ahead  of  it.  When  she  comes  back  she  won't  care 
so  much,"  she  replied  incoherently,  pulling  a  scrap 
of  a  morning  newspaper  from  her  card-case  and 
holding  it  out  at  random  for  the  nearest  one  to 
take.  Father  caught  it  from  her  hand,  and  going 
to  the  window,  read  aloud  in  slow,  precisive  accents 
of  astonishment :  — 


AN  EVENT  OF  INTEREST  TO 
NEW  YORK  SOCIETY. 


[SPECIAL  CABLE  TO  NEW  YORK  HERALD.] 

LONDON,  Aug.  29. — Yesterday  the  marriage 
took  place  of  Montgomery  Bell  to  Mrs.  Vivian 
Latham,  both  of  New  York.  The  wedding, 
at  the  registrar's  and  quite  informal,  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  breakfast  given  the  couple  by 
Mrs.  Center  —  who  chanced,  with  several 
other  intimates  of  the  American  colony,  to 
be  in  the  city  en  route  to  the  German  baths, 
—  at  her  apartment  which  she  always  keeps 
in  readiness  for  occupancy.  Mr.  Bell,  who 
is  a  member  of  all  the  best  clubs,  is  known 
socially  as  the  "  Indispensable."  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bell  will  return  to  New  York  in  Novem- 
ber and  open  their  magnificent  house  at 
Central  Park  East  with  a  series  of  the  de- 
lightful entertainments  which  they  both  so 
well  know  how  to  render  unique. 


XIV 
THE  OASIS 

September  8.  Three  lowering  days  of  wind  and 
rain,  and  Summer,  after  a  feigned  departure,  has 
returned  to  complete  her  task  of  perfecting. 

She  does  this  year  after  year  —  the  marvel  is  that 
we  are  ever  deceived ;  but  after  all,  what  is  it  but  the 
conflict  between  arbitrary  and  natural  law  ?  The 
almanac-maker  says  that  on  the  first  day  of  Septem- 
ber autumn  is  due.  Nature,  the  orbit-maker,  pro- 
claims it  summer  until,  the  month  three-quarters  old, 
the  equinox  is  crossed.  Nature  is  always  right,  and 
after  the  usual  breezy  argument  sends  Summer,  her 
garments  a  bit  storm-tattered,  perchance,  back  to  her 
own. 

The  ill  wind  that  dashed  the  tall  auratum  lilies 
in  the  garden  to  the  ground,  stripped  the  clinging 
fingers  of  the  sweet  peas  from  their  trellis,  and 
decapitated  the  heavy-headed  dahlias,  has  blown  me 
good,  held  me  indoors  awhile,  sent  me  to  my  attic 
confessional  once  more,  with  conscience  for  priest, 

338 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     339 

and  the  twins  for  acolytes,  though  they  presently 
turned  catechists  with  an  entirely  new  series  of 
questions. 

When  I  have  not  opened  my  desk  or  my  garden 
book  for  some  time,  and  the  planting  season,  be  it  of 
spring  or  of  autumn,  as  now,  overtakes  me  unawares, 
I  am  always  newly  convinced  that  gardening  is  the 
truly  religious  life,  for  it  implies  a  continual  prepara- 
tion for  the  future,  a  treading  in  the  straight  and 
narrow  path  that  painful  experience  alone  can  mark, 
an  absorption  beyond  compare,  and  the  continual 
exercise  of  hope  and  love,  but  above  all,  of  entire 
childlike  faith. 

When  the  time  had  come  in  the  creative  evolution 
for  the  stamping  of  the  perfected  animal  with  the 
Divine  image  that  forever  separates  him  from  all 
previous  types,  it  was  no  wonder  that  God  set  man, 
in  whom  the  perpetual  struggle  between  the  body 
and  soul  was  to  take  place,  in  a  garden  for  his 
education. 

******* 

Recently  the  boys  have  been  absorbed  in  their 
little  printing  press,  which  they  have  established  in 
my  attic  corner,  the  present  working  motive  having 
come  from  the  card  announcing  Sylvia's  marriage  to 
the  world  in  general,  according  to  Mr.  Latham's  desire. 


340     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

Richard  secured  one  of  these  and  busied  himself  an 
entire  morning  in  setting  it  in  type,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  experience  getting  the  capitals  and  small 
letters  in  their  proper  places.  The  result  was  so 
praiseworthy  that  Evan  hunted  up  a  large  box  of 
ornamental  cards  for  them  in  town,  and  for  two  days 
they  have  been  "  filling  orders  "  for  every  one  in  the 
household. 

I  print  the  names  they  wish  to  copy  very  distinctly 
in  big  letters.  Richard  does  the  type-setting,  which 
is  altogether  too  slow  work  for  Ian,  who,  as  pressman, 
does  the  inking  and  printing,  and  in  the  process 
has  actually  learned  his  tardy  letters.  As  to  the 
distributing  and  cleaning  of  the  type,  I  find  a  little 
assistance  is  gratefully  accepted,  even  by  patient 
Richard,  whose  dear  little  pointed  fingers  by  this  time 
have  become  tired,  and  fumble. 

To-day,  having  exhausted  the  simple  family  names, 
they  have  tried  combinations  and  experiments  with 
the  words  Mr.,  Mrs.,  and  Miss,  much  to  their  own 
amusement,  "Miss  Timothy  Saunders"  being  con- 
sidered a  huge  joke. 

Suddenly  Ian  looked  up  with  one  of  his  most 
compelling,  whimsical  smiles,  and  said,  "  Barbara, 
grandpop's  Mrs.  was  grandma,  and  she's  in  heaven, 
but  where  is  Mrs.  Uncle  Martin  ? " 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     341 

Rather  startled,  I  said  that  I  didn't  know,  —  that 
there  had  never  been  any  Mrs.  Uncle  Martin. 

"Why  not?"  persisted  Ian,  an  answer  that  is 
simply  an  acknowledgment  of  ignorance  never  being 
accepted  by  a  child.  Before  I  could  think  Richard 
chirped  out :  "  But  Aunt  Lavinia  hasn't  any  Mr.  for 
her  card  neiver,  and  Martha,  she  said  the  other  day 
that  there  was  a  Mr.  and  a  Mrs.  for  everybody,  only 
sometimes  they  couldn't  find  each  other  for  ever  so 
long.  She  told  that  to  Effie,  and  I  heard  her." 

A  short  pause,  and  then  Ian  jumped  up,  clapping 
his  hands  with  joy,  as  the  solution  of  the  problem 
flashed  across  him. 

"  I  know  what's  happened,  Barbara ;  maybe  Uncle 
Martin's  Mrs.  and  Aunt  Lavinia's  Mr.  has  gone  and 
got  lost  together,  and  some  day  they'll  find  it  out  and 
bring  each  ower  back !  Do  you  think  they  will,  so 
we  can  have  some  more  weddings  and  pink  ice 
cream,  and  couldn't  we  hurry  up  and  help  find 
them  ?  I  guess  we  better  print  him  some  Mrs.  cards 
so  as  in  case." 

I  had  drifted  into  gardening  work  on  paper  again, 
and  I  believe  I  said  that  he  had  better  ask  Uncle 
Martin  what  he  thought  about  the  matter,  and  at 
that  moment  the  bell  rang  for  luncheon. 

The  ringing  of  bells  for  meals  in  this   house  is 


342     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

what  Lavinia  Dorman  calls  "a  relic  of  barbarism,"  that 
she  greatly  deplores ;  but  as  I  tell  her,  our  family 
gathers  from  so  many  points  of  the  compass  that  if 
the  maid  announced  the  meals,  she  would  have  to  be 
gifted  with  the  instinct  of  a  chaser  of  strayed  freight 
cars. 

lan's  queries  have  brought  up  a  subject  that  has 
deluded  and  eluded  my  hopes  all  summer,  and  has 
finally  ended  in  the  people  that  I  hoped  would  drift 
through  the  doorway  of  one  of  my  most  substantial 
air  castles  refusing  so  to  do,  or  else  being  too  blind 
to  see  the  open  door. 

Martin  and  Lavinia  are  the  best  possible  friends, 
have  been  constantly  in  each  other's  society,  see 
from  nearly  the  same  point  of  view,  and  both  agree 
and  disagree  upon  the  same  subjects,  but  they  have 
not  settled  the  question  of  loneliness  of  living  as  I 
hoped,  by  making  the  companionship  permanent,  via 
matrimony. 

Of  course,  I  did  not  expect  them  to  fall  in  love 
exactly  as  Evan  and  I  or  Horace  and  Sylvia  did — that 
belongs  to  spring  and  summer ;  still,  I  thought  that 
when  they  started  worm-hunting  together,  and  played 
checkers  every  evening,  that  they  were  beginning  to 
find  each  other  mutually  indispensable,  at  least. 

But  no.    Martin  stored  away  his  papers  in  the  old 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     343 

desk,  and  went  to  New  York  a  week  ago  to  see 
several  suites  of  bachelor  apartments  that  had  been 
offered  him. 

He  writes  this  morning  that  he  has  found  one  to 
his  liking,  and  will  return  to-night,  if  he  may,  and 
stay  over  to-morrow  to  pack  his  things.  Meanwhile 
Miss  Lavinia  has  sent  her  maids  to  clean  and  open 
her  house  in  "  Greenwich  Village,"  and  will  go  home 
on  Monday,  spending  her  final  Sunday  with  me. 
Josephus  went  with  the  maids ;  the  country  had  a 
demoralizing  effect  upon  him. 

Miss  Lavinia  has  been  agitating  moving  uptown, 
several  of  her  friends  at  the  Bluffs  insisting  that  an 
apartment  near  the  Park  is  much  more  suitable  for 
her  than  the  little  house  so  far  from  the  social  centre, 
saying  it  is  no  wonder  she  is  lonely  and  out  of  things  ; 
but  yesterday  she  told  me  that  she  had  abandoned 
the  idea  of  change,  and  had  sent  orders  to  have  her 
old  back  yard  garden  dismantled  and  the  whole  plot 
paved,  as  it  was  now  only  a  suitable  place  for  drying 
clothes.  Also  that  she  had  written  to  ask  her  father's 
cousin  Lydia,  whose  Staten  Island  home  had  been  built 
in  by  progress,  very  much  like  her  own  garden,  to 
come  to  pass  the  winter  with  her ;  and,  lest  she  should 
repent  of  so  rash  an  act,  she  had  given  the  letter  to 
Evan  before  the  ink  was  fairly  dry,  as  he  passed  the 


344     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

cottage  on  the  way  to  the  train,  that  he  might  post  it 
in  the  city. 

One  consolation  remains  to  me  in  the  wreck  of  my 
romantic  hopes  for  her  —  Miss  Lavinia  has  liked  our 
neighbourhood  so  well  that  she  has  taken  the  Alton 
cottage  that  she  now  occupies  on  a  three  years'  lease, 
and  intends  living  here  from  May  to  October.  The 
rambling  garden  is  full  of  old-time,  hardy  plants  and 
roses,  and  oh,  what  good  times  we  shall  have  together 
there  next  spring,  for  of  course  she  will  stop  with 
me  when  she  is  getting  things  in  order,  and  I  can 
spare  her  enough  roots  and  cuttings  to  fill  every  spare 
inch  of  ground,  —  so,  with  Sylvia  at  Pine  Ridge, 
what  more  can  I  ask  ?  The  strain  and  hubbub  of  the 
Bluffs  seems  to  be  quite  vanishing  from  the  fore- 
ground and  merging  with  the  horizon. 

That  reminds  me  that  the  people  are  drifting  back 
quite  rapidly  now.  The  golfers  are  afield  again  Sun- 
days, and  all  talk  of  introducing  fox  hunting  with  tame 
foxes ;  but  they  will  have  to  learn  the  land,  with  its 
dips  and  rocks,  better  first,  or  there  will  be  a  pretty 
crop  of  cracked  crowns  for  father.  At  present,  I 
think  that  New  England  Prejudice  will  soon  however 
get  the  upper  hand  here,  and  tighten  her  hold  of  the 
reins  that  seemed  slipping  from  her  grasp,  which  is 
well,  for  she  has  long  borne  aloft  the  only  standard 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     345 

of  national  morality  whose  code  is  not  a  sliding 
scale. 

September  9.  Martin  came  back  to-night.  As 
he  entered  the  house  with  Evan  I  positively  did  not 
know  him,  for  he  has  shaved  off  his  mustache  and 
queer  little  pussy-cat  whiskers,  and  with  them  has 
gone  his  "pudgyness."  He  is  really  a  very  fine- 
looking  man,  and  his  features  are  developed  by  the 
shaving  process  in  an  unexpected  way.  He  seems  so 
wide  awake,  too,  and  alive  to  everything  that  passes, 
that  I  could  see  that  father,  who  came  from  the  office 
to  greet  him,  had  difficulty  in  restraining  his  surprise, 
but  he  contented  himself  by  asking :  — 

"How  did  you  fare  with  the  publishers ?  Did  you 
fall  among  thieves  or  among  friends  ?  " 

"  That  is  equivalent  to  asking  if  my  book  has  been 
accepted,  as  it  is  only  when  work  is  refused  that  we 
call  the  mediums  through  which  we  seek  to  reach  the 
public  hard  names.  Yes,  the  fate  of  my  book  is  soon 
told  ;  it  has  found  its  place,  and  is  to  be  fully  illus- 
trated as  well,  though  it  will  take  me  many  months  to 
collect  the  unique  material  they  desire ;  this  insures 
me  a  busy  winter,  for  which  I  am  not  only  prepared 
but  eager. 

"  I  wish  I  could  as  easily  tell  you  what  this  summer 
here  has  done  for  me,  Dick,"  and  he  leaned  over  the 


346    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

chair  in  which  father  had  seated  himself  and  laid  his 
arm  affectionately  across  his  shoulder.  "  I  think  in 
asking  me  here  you  rescued  me  from  as  dangerous  a 
condition  of  mental  apathy  as  when  you  stood  by  my 
bed  so  many  years  ago." 

"  Don't  thank  me,"  said  father,  leaning  back  and 
looking  up  at  him,  "  thank  God's  sunshine,  work,  the 
babies  here,  and  why  not  woman's  society  also,  — 
you  used  to  appreciate  that,  too,  eh,  Martin,  old 
man  ?  Give  everybody  his,  or  rather  her,  due." 

"Yes,"  I  heard  him  answer,  as  if  pondering  the 
matter,  while  I  fled  discreetly  upstairs  at  this  junc- 
ture, "you  doubtless  are  right;  Lavinia  Dorman's 
criticisms  have  been  of  infinite  value  in  ridding  my 
work  of  a  litter  of  words  that  encumbered  the  spirit 
and  purpose  of  it.  She  is  direct  and  to  the  point, 
and  yet  withal  most  sympathetic.  I  had  thought  of 
dedicating  the  book  to  her  in  some  private  way,  for 
really  we  are  joint  heirs,  as  it  were,  in  so  many  tradi- 
tions and  habits  of  old  New  York,  that  it  would  not 
seem  strained  or  inappropriate." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  it  most  suitable,  and  I 
would  not  go  to  any  great  pains  to  hide  the  compli- 
ment of  the  dedication  under  a  bushel  of  disguise 
either,  if  I  were  you.  The  Lydia  Languish  age  of 
abnormal  privacy  and  distorted,  unhealthy  sensibility 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     347 

has  fortunately  passed.  Nowadays  women  like  men 
to  be  direct,  outspoken,  definite,  where  they  are 
concerned." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Martin,  in  real  surprise. 
"  I  feared  possibly  that  it  might  annoy  her." 

"I  know  so — annoy  her,  fudge!"    was   father's 

comment. 

******* 

When  we  went  in  to  dinner,  Miss  Lavinia  at  once 
noticed  the  change  in  Martin's  appearance,  and  said, 
in  a  spirit  of  mischief  which  of  course  I  alone 
noticed :  — 

"  Back  from  the  city,  and  with  new  clothes,  too,  — 
how  very  smart  and  becoming  they  are." 

But  poor  Martin  was  quite  guileless,  and  looking 
down  at  his  coat  in  a  puzzled  way,  as  if  to  make 
doubly  sure,  replied,  "  No,  it  cannot  be  my  clothes, 
for  they  are  the  same."  Then,  brightening,  as  the 
possible  reason  occurred  to  him :  "  Perhaps  it  may  be 
my  shaven  face ;  you  see,  the  barber  made  an  error 
in  the  trimming  of  my  decorations  yesterday,  and  he 
thought  it  better  to  take  them  entirely  off  and  have 
them  grow  afresh,  but  I  had  not  thought  of  the  mat- 
ter in  the  light  of  an  improvement." 

"  But  it  is  one,  most  decidedly,"  continued  Miss 
Lavinia,  nodding  brightly  across  at  him,  while  father, 


348     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

who  now  realized  the  change  he  could  not  locate, 
cried :  — 

"  Don't  let  them  grow  again,  my  boy.  You  look 
ten  years  younger,  at  the  very  least,  which  you  know 
at  our  age  is  not  to  be  despised !  " 

Then  we  all  grew  hilarious,  and  talked  together 
like  a  lot  of  school  children,  and  when  the  boys  came 
in  to  dessert,  as  usual,  they  also  were  infectiously 
boisterous  over  the  catching  of  some  bass  in  the  river 
where  Timothy  Saunders  had  taken  them  that  after- 
noon as  a  special  treat.  They  clamoured  and  begged 
so  for  Uncle  Martin  to  stop  over  the  next  day  for 
fishing  and  have  one  more  good  time  with  them,  that 
he,  feeling  flattered  almost  to  the  point  of  embarrass- 
ment, yielded  upon  Evan's  suggesting  that,  instead 
of  going  by  the  eight  o'clock  morning  train  as  he 
intended,  he  could  wait  for  one  late  in  the  evening, 
which  would  get  him  to  town  before  eleven.  For 
Martin  was  to  move  into  his  new  bachelor  apartments 
the  following  morning. 

The  three  men  lingered  long  at  the  table,  smoking, 
the  talk  punctuated  by  long  periods  of  silence,  each 
regretting  in  his  own  way  the  present  terminating  of 
the  summer  intercourse,  and  yet,  I  fancy,  realizing 
that  it  had  lasted  exactly  the  safe  length  of  time.  To 
be  able  to  adapt  oneself  temporarily  to  the  presence 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     349 

of  outsiders  in  a  house  is  a  healthy  habit,  but  to  ad- 
just a  family  to  do  it  permanently  is  to  lose  what 
can  never  be  regained.  Miss  Lavinia  and  I  agreed 
upon  that  long  ago,  and  for  this  reason  I  am  very 
much  surprised  that  she  has  asked  her  cousin  Lydia 
to  spend  the  winter,  with  a  view  of  making  the 
arrangement  permanent. 

The  boys  brought  some  of  their  games  downstairs, 
and  succeeded  in  adding  half  an  hour  to  their  bed- 
time by  coaxing  Aunt  Lavinia  to  play  with  them, 
until  I  finally  had  to  almost  carry  them  to  bed,  they 
grew  so  suddenly  sleepy  from  their  day's  fishing. 

When  I  returned  below  stairs  after  the  boys  were 
asleep,  father  had  gone  to  the  village,  Evan  was 
walking  up  and  down  outside,  all  the  windows  and 
doors  were  open  again,  and  the  sultry  air  answered 
the  katydids'  cry  for  "  Some-more-heat,  some-more- 
heat." 

Miss  Lavinia  was  still  in  the  hall,  sitting  on  the 
lower  step  of  the  stairs,  for  the  boys  had  been  using 
the  broad  landing  that  made  a  turn  at  the  top  of  the 
three  steps  as  a  place  to  play  their  games.  Martin 
stood  leaning  on  the  newel  post,  and  from  the  few 
words  I  heard  I  knew  that  he  was  telling  her  about 
the  proposed  dedication,  so  I  went  out  and  joined 
Evan,  for  it  seems  as  though  we  had  had  little  leisure 


350    THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   WHIRLPOOL 

outdoors  together  of  late,  and  as  if  it  was  time  to 
make  it  up  as  best  we  might. 

Then,  once  again,  as  we  crossed  the  streak  of  light 
that  streamed  like  a  narrow  moon  path  from  the  door- 
way, Evan  paused  and  nodded  his  head  toward  the 
hall.  I  turned  —  there  sat  Miss  Lavinia  and  Martin 
Cortright  on  the  stairs,  playing  with  the  boys'  — jack- 
straws  ! " 

"  After  this,  what  ? "  I  asked,  in  my  mirth  leaning 
backward  on  Evan's  supporting  arm. 

"  To  be  pat,  it  ought  to  be  the  deluge,"  chuckled 
Evan  ;  "  but  as  these  are  prosy  times,  it  simply  means 
the  end  has  been  reached,  and  that  to-morrow  they 
will  put  away  mild  summer  madness,  and  return  to 
the  Whirlpool  to  paddle  about  decorously  as  of  yore." 

I  find  that  I  am  not  the  only  person  who  is  dis- 
appointed at  the  absence  of  matrimonial  intentions 
between  Martin  and  Miss  Lavinia.  The  postmistress 
told  me  yesterday  that  she's  been  expecting  to  hear 
of  a  second  wedding  any  day,  as  when  one  took  place 
it  always  meant  three,  though  she  couldn't  "fetch  the 
third  couple  together,  even  in  her  mind's  eye,"  which 
I  have  found  to  be  usually  a  capacious  and  well  filled 
optic. 

Mrs.  Barton  also  stopped  Martha  Corkle  on  the 
road,  and  said  with  an  insinuating  sneer,  "She'd  always 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     351 

supposed  that  the  gentleman  from  New  York  who 
lodged  with  her  was  making  up  to  the  proud  old  maid 
at  the  Doctor's,  but  as  he  evidently  wasn't  going  to, 
she'd  advise  Mrs.  Evan  to  watch  out,  as  Miss  Lavinia, 
doubtless  being  disappointed,  might  set  her  cap  for 
the  Doctor  himself,  and  then  the  Lord  knows  what 
would  happen,  men  being  so  easily  flattered  and 
trapped." 

Martha  was  indignant,  and  I  must  say  very  rude, 
for  she  snapped  back :  "  I  wonder  at  that  same  bein' 
your  holdin',  Mrs.  Barton,  bein'  as  you've  five  maid 
daughters  that's  not  so  by  their  desirin',  folks  do  say 
as  knows." 

Mud  throwers  should  be  careful  to  wear  gloves,  — 
their  ammunition  is  sticky. 

****** 

September  10.  This  morning  father  and  I  were 
obliged  to  go  to  town  upon  some  hospital  business, 
and  as  we  had  to  remain  there  for  luncheon,  or  per- 
haps longer,  we  took  the  train  instead  of  driving 
over,  leaving  Lavinia  to  pack,  so  that  she  might  have 
a  free  Saturday  to  drive  with  me  to  bid  Mrs.  Brad- 
ford good-by,  and  learn  the  latest  news  of  Sylvia  and 
Horace.  Meanwhile  the  boys  were  to  go  fishing 
with  Martin,  who  is  as  careful  of  them  as  possible, 
taking  their  lunch  with  them. 


352     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

They  did  not  have  good  luck,  however,  and  grow- 
ing restless  and  tired  of  fishing  without  catching, 
Martin  brought  them  home  by  three  o'clock,  and  as 
both  he  and  Miss  Lavinia  had  finished  their  prepara- 
tions for  leaving,  they  went  out  to  the  seat  by  the 
rose  arbour  to  enjoy  what  was  left  of  the  glorious 
afternoon,  for  it  has  been  one  of  those  days  that 
come  in  dreams,  so  perfect  that  one  knows  it  cannot 
last. 

"  I  hope  that  I  shall  not  lose  all  track  of  you  this 
winter,"  said  Miss  Lavinia.  "  Of  course  you  will  be 
busy,  but  you  might  spare  a  lonely  woman  an  even- 
ing now  and  then  for  piquet,  or  whist  if  Evan  or  the 
Doctor  should  come  to  town." 

"  Lose  track  of  you,  Miss  Lavinia,  —  how  could 
that  be  possible  ? "  queried  Martin  in  mild-eyed 
astonishment.  "You  know  there  will  be  a  second 
volume  of  the  book  for  you  to  read  and  criticise, 
besides  all  the  illustrations  to  discuss.  No,  I  hoped 
that  you  could  spare  me  two  definite  evenings  every 
week,  at  least  until  the  work  is  in  press,  though  I 
suppose  that  is  asking  a  great  deal  of  a  woman  hav- 
ing so  many  friends,  and  places  to  go." 

"  If  you  could  see  the  way  I  spend  my  evenings 
alone,  you  would  not  hesitate.  Of  course  I  do  dine 
out  once  in  a  time,  and  people  come  to  me,  but  be- 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     353 

tween  times — I  envy  even  Josephus,  who  can  have 
social  enjoyment  any  time  by  merely  scratching  on 
the  door  and  running  along  the  palings  to  the 
neighbours." 

"  I  am  glad,  for  I  decided  upon  taking  the  Wash- 
ington Square  rooms,  instead  of  moving  up  nearer 
the  Clubs  as  my  friends  advised,  because  I  thought 
it  would  be  so  much  more  convenient  if,  in  proof 
correcting,  I  should  require  to  consult  you  hastily." 

Miss  Lavinia  felt  a  pleasurable  flush  rising  to  her 
cheeks,  when  it  was  chilled  by  the  memory  of  her 
invitation  to  her  cousin  Lydia.  Why  had  she  given 
it  ?  Then  the  realization  that  a  third  party  would  be 
unwelcome  to  her  made  the  flush  return  and  deepen. 

**»***» 

"  Uncle  Martin,  where  is  your  Mrs.  ?  Barbara  said 
I'd  have  to  ask  you  'cause  she  didn't  know,"  sud- 
denly asked  lan's  voice,  so  close  behind  them  that 
they  both  started.  He  had  been  up  in  the  attic  to 
get  some  of  his  precious  cards,  one  of  which  he  now 
held  in  front  of  Martin  Cortright's  gaze. 

"  My  Mrs. !  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked 
in  uncomprehending  astonishment,  taking  the  boy  on 
his  knee ;  but  when  the  little  scamp  had  explained, 
the  stupidest  person  in  the  world  could  not  plead 
ignorance. 

2A 


354    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"And,"  Ian  continued,  "  Dick  and  me  thought  that 
p'r'aps  if  your  Mrs.  and  Aunt  Lavinia's  Mr.  had  got 
lost  together  we  could  find  them  for  you,  and  then 
there'd  be  two  more  weddings  with  pink  ice  cream. 
We're  going  to  look  this  afternoon,  and  we're  going 
to  ask  Martha  to  help  us,  'cause  she  found  her  Mr. 
after  he'd  been  lost  a  great  while,  Effie  says." 

"  And  he  was  right  here  in  the  place,  too,"  chimed 
in  Richard,  "only  he  didn't  seem  to  see  her,  so 
p'r'aps  yours  aren't  far  off,  and  we  might  get  them 
in  time  to  have  the  wedding  to-night  before  you 
go.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  in  a  wedding,  Aunt 
Lavinia  ? " 

"Mercy  no,  child,  I'm  too  old!"  she  ejaculated, 
now  as  red  as  a  Jacqueminot  rose,  while  the  boys 
ran  off  in  the  direction  of  Martha's,  to  ask  her  where 
it  was  best  to  begin  this  important  quest,  the  prize 
for  which  was  pink  ice  cream. 

Miss  Lavinia  did  not  look  up  for  a  moment,  and 
when  she  did  she  found  Martin's  eyes  fastened  on 
her  face,  and  in  them  a  strange  enlightenment  that 
shook  her  like  an  electric  bolt,  as  he  arose  and 
stood  before  her,  saying  :  — 

"  You  need  never  be  old.  Some  prefer  June  straw- 
berries and  others  September  peaches,  that  is  all. 
When  once  in  June  I  thought  to  gather  the  straw- 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     355 

berries,  I  found  they  belonged  to  another,  for  I  loved 
your  friend,  who  was  Barbara's  mother." 

"And  I  loved  your  friend,  who  is  Barbara's 
father,"  Miss  Lavinia  said,  rising  and  facing  him. 

"  As  they  married  each  other,  why  may  not  we  ? 
I  know  now  why  my  work  has  prospered  this  sum- 
mer and  why  life  seems  good  again.  lan's  little 
fancy  shows  me  the  truth." 

"  Our  Mr.  and  Mrs.  were  not  far  off,  then,"  said 
she,  laying  her  hand  on  his,  while  she  looked  into  his 
face  with  one  of  those  rare  smiles  of  unreserved  con- 
fidence that  makes  Lavinia  Dorman  more  fascinating 
than  half  the  younger  women  that  I  know. 

After  a  moment  of  romance  they  waked  up  to 
the  fact  of  the  present  and  its  comical  aspect;  the 
boys'  talk  of  weddings  brought  that  necessary  epi- 
sode quickly  before  them. 

"  May  I  tell  the  Doctor  when  he  returns  ?  Shall 
we  tell  them  all?"  asked  Martin,  eagerly,  and  Miss 
Lavinia  sat  suddenly  down  again  and  realized  that 
she  still  was  in  the  world  of  responsibilities. 

"  I  think  I  would  rather  wait  and  do  it  all  at  once, 
after  —  after  the  pink  ice-cream,"  she  said,  as  he 
laughed  at  her  hesitation  over  the  word.  "  I  don't 
like  keeping  it  from  Barbara,  but  I'm  so  tired  of  talk 
and  fuss  and  feathers  and  Mrs.  Grundy." 


356    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  Then  let  us  get  it  quietly  over  next  week,  or  to- 
morrow, if  you  say,  unless  you  wish  time  to  feel  sure,  or 
perhaps  to  think  it  over,"  said  Martin,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Time  to  think  it  over ! "  cried  Miss  Lavinia, 
springing  lightly  to  her  feet.  "  No,  I'm  sure  I  don't 
wish  to  think,  I  want  to  act  —  to  do  things  my  own 
way  and  give  no  one  a  chance  to  speak  until  it  is 
done.  What  have  I  been  doing  all  my  life  but  think- 
ing, and  waiting  for  it  to  be  a  convenient  and  suitable 
time  for  me  to  do  this  or  that,  wondering  what  others 
will  think  if  I  do  or  don't;  thinking  that  the  dis- 
agreeable was  duty,  often  simply  because  it  was 
disagreeable.  Surely  you  have  been  hampered  by 
this  perpetual  thinking  too,  and  watching  the  thumb 
of  custom  to  see  if  it  pointed  up  or  down.  No,  I'm 
done  with  it.  We've  agreed  to  be  married,  so  why 
not  this  very  afternoon,  and  have  the  wedding  over 
before  you  go,  as  the  boys  suggested  ? " 

"The  best  possible  idea,  though  I  should  have 
hardly  dared  suggest  it,"  said  Martin,  tramping  to 
and  fro  in  excitement.  "  How  shall  we  manage  ? 
Go  down  here  to  the  rectory  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  go  over  to  town,"  said  Miss  La- 
vinia, beginning,  in  spite  of  herself,  to  realize  diffi- 
culties. "  We  do  not  know  who  might  drop  in  here." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Martin,  decisively,  looking  at  his 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     357 

watch.  "  I  have  it !  Timothy  is  off  to-day ;  I  will 
harness  the  grays  to  the  stanhope,  as  we  can't  wait 
to  send  to  the  stable,  and  we  will  drive  over  the  back 
way  by  the  Ridge  and  be  home  again  by  dinner  time. 
The  rector  of  All  Saints'  was  a  classmate  of  mine, 
and  I  met  him  again  only  the  other  day,  so  we  shall 
have  no  trouble  there." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  can  harness  the  horses  prop- 
erly ? "  asked  Miss  Lavinia,  with  characteristic  caution, 
and  then  smiling  at  herself,  as  Martin  hurried  off  to 
the  stable. 

******* 

In  less  than  twenty  minutes  the  sober  gray  horses 
turned  out  of  the  stable  yard  and  up  the  road  upon 
the  most  remarkable  trip  of  their  career.  Nothing 
strange  was  noticeable  about  the  turnout,  except  that 
the  traces  hung  a  trifle  loose,  and  that  the  occupants 
sat  unusually  far  back  under  the  hood  for  so  pleasant 
an  afternoon.  That  is,  until  after  they  had  passed 
Martha's  house  in  the  lane  and  turned  into  the  unfre- 
quented back  highway,  then  they  both  leaned  for- 
ward, gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and,  looking  at  each 
other,  laughed  aloud. 

"  Do  you  realize  that  we  are  eloping,  like  runaway 
school  children  ?  "  said  Miss  Lavinia,  "  we  two  hitherto 
sober-minded  Knickerbockers  ?  " 


358     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

"  I  realize  that  I  like  what  we  are  doing  very  much, 
whatever  it  may  be  called,"  replied  Martin,  "  and  that 
it  is  very  considerate  of  you  to  spare  me  and  do  it  in 
this  way.  The  conventional  affair  is  very  hard  on  a 
man  of  my  years,  all  of  whose  contemporaries  are 
either  bald  or  rheumatic ;  besides,  now  I  think  of  it, 
it  is  merely  carrying  out  the  ever-present  precedent. 
My  father's  great-great-grand  father  and  mother 
eloped  in  1689  from  Staten  Island  to  the  Bouerie, 
and  the  boat  upset  when  they  were  going  back. 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Lavinia,  "  I  hope 
we  shall  not  upset !  I  wonder  if  the  wheels  are  on 
securely.  I  thought  I  heard  something  rattle.  There 
it  is  again." 

As  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  long  hill,  Martin 
let  the  reins  hang  loose  on  the  horses'  necks  and, 
lowering  the  hood,  looked  back  to  see  if  he  could 
find  the  cause  of  the  jolting  sound,  accompanied  by 
panting,  as  of  a  dog  running.  Then  he  gave  an 
exclamation  of  impatience,  and  pulled  the  horses 
up  short,  for  there,  alternately  running  and  lifting  up 
their  feet  and  swinging,  were  the  twins,  clinging  to 
the  back  of  the  gig ! 

Miss  Lavinia  gave  a  cry  of  dismay.  "Where  did 
you  come  from,  and  where  are  you  going  ? "  she 
questioned  rather  sharply. 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     359 

"  We  went  to  Martha's,  you  know,"  said  Ian,  as  if 
his  errand  had  been  one  of  such  importance  that  it 
was  impossible  she  should  forget  it,  "  and  she  wasn't 
there,  so  we  thought  we'd  just  look  for  those  people 
we  said  about,  by  ourselves.  But  we  couldn't  find 
anybody,  only  a  shiny  black  snake  by  the  road,  and 
he  rubber-necked  at  us  and  spit  some  'fore  he  ran 
away.  Then  we  saw  grandpop's  horses  coming,  and 
when  you  went  by  we  hooked  on,  and  —  " 

"  'Cause  we  thought  if  you  was  looking  for  those 
people  and  found  them,  then  we'd  be  there  for  the 
pink  ice  cream,"  added  Richard,  cheerfully,  supple- 
menting lan's  story  when  his  breath  gave  out. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  turn  around  and  take  them 
home,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Let  them  come  with  us  ;  it  is  too 
late  to  turn  back,  unless,"  he  added,  with  a  ring  of 
mock  humility  in  his  tone,  "  you  have  changed  your 
mind  and  wish  time  to  think.  As  for  me,  I've  turned 
my  back  on  even  thinking  whether  they  will  be 
missed  or  who  will  worry. 

"  Scramble  in,  boys,  and  curl  up  here  in  front. 
You  are  just  in  time ;  two  of  these  people  you  were 
searching  for  are  going  to  be  married  this  afternoon. 
We  are  going  to  the  wedding,  and  you  shall  be  best 
men,"  and  the  boys  settled  down,  chuckling  and 


360    THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

whispering,  but  presently  Ian  looked  up,  as  light 
dawned,  and  cried  :  "  I  spy !  It's  you,  Uncle  Martin, 
and  Aunt  Lavinia  is  your  Mrs.,  only  you  couldn't 
find  her  all  summer  till  to-day,"  and  he  hugged  his 
friend  around  the  legs,  which  were  all  he  could 
reach,  but  Richard  leaned  backward  until  his  head 
rested  on  Miss  Lavinia's  knees,  and  he  reached  up 
his  cooing  lips  to  be  kissed. 

The  rest  of  the  ride  to  town  was  uneventful, 
except  that  when  they  reached  the  outskirts  they 
met  Jenks-Smith's  coach  loaded  with  Whirlpool 
people,  but  the  Lady  of  the  Bluffs  saw  nothing 
strange  in  the  combination,  and  merely  shook  her 
parasol  at  them,  calling,  "  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you're 
flitting,  just  when  it's  getting  lively  again,  too  !  " 

Fortunately  the  rector  of  All  Saints'  was  at  home, 
likewise  the  requisite  number  of  his  family,  for  wit- 
nesses. Then  it  transpired  that  the  couple  had 
never  thought  of  the  ring,  and  while  Martin  went  out 
to  buy  one,  Miss  Lavinia  was  left  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  a  very  stiff  sofa  with  a  boy  on  either  side  of  her, 
with  the  Rectory  family  drawn  up  opposite  like  an 
opposing  force,  which  did  not  encourage  easy  con- 
versation. 

However,  the  agony  was  soon  over,  and  the  bride 
and  groom  left,  Martin  giving  his  old  classmate,  to 


THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL     361 

whom  the  world  had  been  penurious,  a  hand-shake 
that,  when  examined  by  the  breathless  family  a  few 
moments  later,  was  found  to  yield  at  least  a  new 
parlour  carpet,  an  easy-chair  for  the  Rector's  bent 
back,  and  a  new  clerical  suit  to  cover  his  gaunt 
frame. 

"  Now  comes  the  pink  ice  cream,"  sang  Ian,  danc- 
ing a-tiptoe  as  they  reached  the  street;  and  there 
being  but  one  good  restaurant  in  town,  on  the  high 
street,  next  to  the  saddler's  shop  where  the  red  goat 
harness  was  still  displayed,  the  party  drove  there,  and 
the  pink  ice  cream  was  eaten,  good  and  full  measure 
thereof,  while  on  their  way  out  the  coveted  goat  har- 
ness found  itself  being  taken  from  the  window  to  be 
packed  away  under  the  seat  of  the  gig. 

******* 
It  was  almost  dinner  time  when  father  and  I  re- 
turned to-night,  and  the  boys  were  squeezed  together 
in  a  chair  on  the  piazza,  close  to  Miss  Lavinia,  while 
Martin  sat  near  by  on  the  balustrade.  The  boys 
were  in  a  great  state  of  giggles,  and  kept  clapping 
their  hands  to  their  mouths  as  if  they  feared  some- 
thing would  escape.  I  hurried  upstairs,  not  wishing 
to  make  dinner  late,  as  I  knew  Martin  expected  to 
take  the  nine  o'clock  train,  just  as  father  came  in 
saying  that  Timothy  had  returned,  and  that  he  found 


362     THE   PEOPLE   OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

the  horses  in  a  wonderful  sweat,  and  feared  they 
were  sick,  as  they  hadn't  been  out  all  day. 

By  this  time  we  were  in  the  hall  and  walking  toward 
the  dining  room.  Martin  stopped  short,  as  if  to  say 
something,  and  then  changed  his  mind,  while  a  bump- 
ing at  the  pantry  door  attracted  the  attention  of  us  all. 

Out  came  Ian,  a  portion  of  the  goat  harness  on  his 
head  and  shoulders,  followed  by  Richard,  around 
whose  neck  the  reins  were  fastened,  and  between 
them  they  carried  the  great  heavy  silver  tea-tray  only 
used  on  state  occasions.  In  the  centre  of  it  rested  a 
pink  sofa  pillow,  upon  which  some  small,  flat  object 
like  a  note  was  lying. 

They  came  straight  across  the  hall,  halting  in  front 
of  me,  and  saying  earnestly,  "  We  didn't  ask  for  the 
harness,  but  Uncle  Martin  says  that  people  always 
give  their  best  mens  presents."  I  looked  at  him  for 
a  second,  not  understanding,  then  Evan,  with  a  curious 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  strode  across,  whispering  to  me, 
"  The  Deluge,"  as  he  picked  up  the  card  and  read 
aloud,  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Martin  Cortright !  "  It  was  the 
card  that  Richard  had  printed  several  days  before 
and  carried  in  strange  company  in  his  warm,  mussy 
little  pocket  ever  since. 

There  was  tense  silence,  and  then  a  shout,  as  Martin 
took  his  wife's  hand  that  wore  the  wedding  ring  and 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE  WHIRLPOOL     363 

laid  it  on  mine ;  then  he  and  father  fairly  hugged 
each  other,  for  father  did  not  forget  those  long-ago 
days  of  the  strawberries  that  Martin  could  not  gather. 

When  the  excitement  had  subsided  and  dinner  was 
over,  Martha  and  Tim,  to  whom  the  horse  matter  had 
been  explained,  came  over  to  offer  their  congratula- 
tions, — at  least  Martha  did.  Timothy  merely  grinned, 
and,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  winked  slyly  at  Martin, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "We  may  be  long  in  knowing  our 
minds,  but  when  we  men  are  ready,  the  weemen  fair 
tumble  over  us." 

"  Indeed,  mum,  but  I  wish  you  joy,  and  that  he'll 
lead  you  as  easy  a  life  as  Tim'thy  here  does  me,  'deed 
I  do,  and  no  disrespeck  intended,"  was  Martha's 
parting  sentence ;  and  then  our  wonder  as  to  whether 
Martin  was  going  to  town,  or  what,  was  cut  short  by 
his  rising,  looking  at  his  watch,  and  saying  in  the 
most  matter-of-fact  way  to  Lavinia :  "  Is  your  bag 
ready?  You  know  we  leave  in  an  hour." 

"  Does  Lucy  expect  you  ?  "  I  ventured  to  ask. 

"  Oh  no,  I  shall  not  trouble  her  until  the  day  ap- 
pointed. We  shall  go  to  the  Manhattan,  I  think." 

"  How  about  your  cousin  Lydia  ? "  asked  father, 
who  could  not  resist  a  chance  to  tease. 

"  I  forgot  all  about  her !  "  exclaimed  poor  Lavinia, 
clasping  her  hands  tragically  and  looking  really  con- 


364     THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL 

science-stricken.  "  And  I,"  said  Evan,  who  had 
suddenly  jumped  up  and  rammed  his  hand  into  his 
side  pocket,  "  forgot  to  post  your  letter  to  her !  " 

******* 

October  31.  We  have  all  been  to  New  York  to  visit 
the  runaway  Cortrights,  as  Evan  calls  them,  now 
that  they  are  settled,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  see  that 
so  much  belated  happiness  is  possible.  The  fate  of 
Lavinia's  house  is  definitely  arranged ;  they  will  re- 
main in  "  Greenwich  Village,"  in  spite  of  all  advice 
to  move  up  in  town.  The  defunct  back  yard  is  being 
covered  by  an  extension  that  will  give  Martin  a  fine 
library,  with  a  side  window  and  a  scrap  of  balcony, 
while  the  ailantus  tree  is  left,  that  bob-tailed  Jose- 
phus  may  not  be  deprived  of  the  feline  pleasures  of 
the  street  or  his  original  way  of  reaching  it  over  the 
side  fence ;  and  the  flower  garden  that  was,  will  be 
the  foundation  of  a  garden  of  books  under  the  kindly 
doctrine  of  compensation. 

Above  is  to  be  a  large  guest  room  for  Silvia  and 
Horace,  or  Evan  and  me,  so  that  there  will  be  room 
in  plenty  when  by  and  by  we  bring  the  boys  to  see 
our  New  York. 

Mrs.  Jenks-Smith,  who  has  formed  a  sincere  attach- 
ment to  Lavinia  Cortright,  did  all  in  her  power  to 
persuade  her  to  be  her  neighbour  up  in  town,  offering 


THE   PEOPLE   OF   THE   WHIRLPOOL     365 

a  charming  house  at  a  bargain  and  many  advantages. 
Finally  becoming  piqued  at  the  refusal,  she  said  :  — 

"  Why  will  you  be  so  stupid  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  this  out-of-the-way  street  is  in  the  social  desert  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  in  a  desert,  as  you  say,"  said  Lavinia, 
gently,  "  but  we  mean  at  least  to  make  it  an  oasis  for 
our  friends  who  are  weary  of  the  whirling  of  the 

pool." 

******* 

We  stood  looking  at  the  boys  as  they  slept  to- 
night. Strange  thoughts  will  crop  up  at  times  most 
unexpectedly.  Horns  blowing  on  the  highway  pro- 
claimed the  late  arrival  of  a  coaching  party  at  the 
Bluffs.  "Would  you  like  to  have  money  if  you 
could,  and  go  about  the  world  when  and  where  you 
please  ?  "  I  asked  Evan,  but  he,  shaking  his  head, 
drew  me  towards  him,  answering  my  question  with 
another  — 

"  Would  you,  or  why  do  you  ask  ? " 

I  never  thought  that  Mrs.  Jenks-Smith's  stricture 
would  turn  to  a  prayer  upon  my  lips,  but  before  I 
knew  it  I  whispered,  "  God  keep  us  comfortably 
poor." 

Then  Ian,  feeling  our  presence,  raised  himself  in 
sleepy  leisure,  and  nestling  his  cheek  against  my 
dress  said,  "  Barbara, please  give  Ian  a  drink  of  water." 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

NEW,  CLEVER.  ENTERTAINING. 

GRET :    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 

by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
strong  original  story.  Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con- 
tent with  the  wild  life— until  loye  comes.  A  fine  book,  unmarred  by  con- 
vention. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  of 
all,  permeating  the  whole  volume  like  the  pungent  odor  of  pine,  healthful 
and  life  giving.  "  Old  Chester  Tales  "  will  surely  be  among  the  books  that 
abide. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.  By  Josephine  Daskam.  Illus- 
trated by  F.  Y.  Cory. 

The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
an  elderly  maiden,  whose  book  knowledge  ofbabies  was  something  at  which 
even  the  infant  himself  winked.    A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 
REBECCA  MARY.      By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.      Illustrated 

by  Ehzabeth  Shippen  Green. 

The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  are 
told  with  a  delicate  art,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  needs  of  the  childish 
heart  and  a  humorous  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  childish  mind. 

THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  true 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  as 
well  as  the  tender  phases  of  life. 

THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S.    By  George  BarrMcCutcheon. 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.  One  of  Mr.  McCutcheon's  best  books. 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.    By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.    Illus- 
trated by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 
Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
little  boy  to  that  non-locatable  land  called  "  Brer   Rabbit's   Laughing 
Place,"  and  again  the  quaint  animals  spring  into  active  life  and  play  their 
parts,  for  the  edification  of  a  small  but  appreciative  audience. 

THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.     With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 
believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 
instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.    Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

_  A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  "  Old  Man  Lynch  ".of^Wall  St.  True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment. 

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DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

A  Few  that  are  Making  Theatrical  History 

MARY  JANE'S  PA.    By  Norman  Way.    Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Mary  Jane's  Pa  "  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
himself  famous,  and,  genius  being  ill  adapted  to  domestic  joys,  he  wanders 
from  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  humorous 
bits  of  recent  fiction. 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

"  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  young  man  is  brought  in 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
analyst,  but  he  proves  in  the  end  that  manhood  counts  for  more  than  anci- 
ent lineage  by  winning  the  love  of  the  fairest  girl  in  the  flock. 

A  WOMAN'S  WAY.     By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 
scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
from  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
into  one  of  delicious  comedy. 

THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  choir  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
where  she  was  born  and  the  limited  audience  of  St.  Judc's  to  train  for  the 
opera  in  New  York.  She  leaves  love  behind  her  and  meets  love  more  ardent 
but  not  more  sincere  in  her  new  environment.  How  she  works,  how  she 
studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 

A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.     Illus- 
trated by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Fawcett. 
A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  who  comes  under  the  influence 
of  a  beautiful  but  evil  woman ;  how  she  lures  him  on  and  on,  how  he 
struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
unflinching  realism. 

THE   SQUAW   MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and   Edwin 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  bright  in  dialogue  with  a  fine  courageous 
hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIRL   IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre.     Illustrated 

with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch,  a  ven- 
turesome spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities. 

THE    SCARLET    PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy.     Illus- 
trated with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding  in 
dramatic  incident,  with  a  young  English  soldier  of  fortune,  daring,  mysteri- 
ous as  the  hero, 

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CY  WHITTAKER'S  PLACE.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  el- 
derly bachelor  and  his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little 
girl.    Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 
THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.     By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.     Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 

A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acadia  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.  A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in- 
definable charm  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By   Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.    Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 

Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre.  Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  search- 
ing analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 
THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.  Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  back- 
ground for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
life,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 

THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burnham. 
An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re- 
sort, where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti- 
mate good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment. 

THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.     By   Clara   Louise   Bum- 
ham.    Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
y.    The   story  hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul 
the  blase  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 


joy 
of  tl 


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QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER.      A  Picture  of  New 
England  Home  Life.    With  illustrations  by  C.  W. 
Reed,  and  Scenes  Reproduced  from  the  Play. 
One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  'ever  written.    It  is 
full  of  homely  human  interest  *  *  *  there  is  a  wealth  of  New 
England  village  character,  scenes  and  incidents  *  *  *  forcibly, 
vividly  and  truthfully  drawn.    Few  books  have  enjoyed  a 
greater  sale  and  popularity.     Dramatized,  it  made  the  great- 
est rural  play  of  recent  times. 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY 
ADAMS  SAWYER.  By  Charles  Felton  Pidgin. 
Illustrated  by  Henry  Roth. 

All  who  love  honest  sentiment,  quaint  and  sunny  humor, 
and  homespun  philosophy  will  find  these  "  Further  Adven- 
tures" a  book  after  their  own  heart. 

HALF  A  CHANCE.  By  Frederic  S.  Isham.  Illus- 
trated by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

The  thrill  of  excitement  will  keep  the  reader  in  a  state  of 
suspense,  and  he  will  become  personally  concerned  from  the 
start,  as  to  the  central  character,  a  very  real  man  who  suffers, 
dares — and  achieves ! 

VIRGINIA  OF  THE  AIR  LANES.  By  Herbert 
Quick.  Illustrated  by  William  R.  Leigh. 

The  author  has  seized  the  romantic  moment  for  the  airship 
novel,  and  created  the  pretty  story  of  "  a  lover  and  his  lass  " 
contending  with  an  elderly  relative  for  the  monopoly  of  the 
skies.  An  exciting  tale  of  adventure  in  midair. 

THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE.     By  Eleanor  M. 

Ingram.    Illustrated  by  P.  D.  Johnson. 
The  hero  is  a  young  American,  who,  to  save  his  family  from 
poverty,  deliberately  commits  a  felony.    Then  follow  his  cap- 
ture and  imprisonment,  and  his  rescue  by  a  Russian  Grand 
Duke.    A  stirring  story,  rich  in  sentiment. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


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Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

A  SIX-CYLINDER  COURTSHIP,  By  Edw.  Salisbury  Field 

With  a  color  frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher,  and  illustra- 
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A  story  of  cleverness.    It  is  a  jolly  good  romance  of  love  at 
first  sight  that  will  be  read  with  undoubted  pleasure.    Automobil- 
ing  figures  in  the  story  which  is  told  with  light,  bright  touches, 
while  a  happy  gift  o'  humor  permeates  it  all. 

"  The  booK  is  full  of  interesting  folks.  The  patois  of  the  garage  is 
used  with  full  comic  and  realistic  effect,  and  effervescently,  cul- 
minating in  the  usual  happy  finish."— .SV.  LouL  Mirror. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW, 

By  Gene  Stratton-Porter  Author  of  "  FRECKLES  " 

With  illustrations  in  color  by  Oliver  Kemp,  decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour  and  inlay  cover  in  colors. 
The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self -sacrific- 
ing love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and  the 
love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.    The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature  and  its 
pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 

JUDITH  OF  THE  CUMBERLANDS,  By  Alice  MacGowan 

With  illustrations  in  colors,  and  inlay  cover  by  George  Wright. 
No  one  can  fail  to  enjoy  this  moving  tale  with  its  lovely  and  ar- 
dent heroine,  its  frank,  fearless  hero,  its  glowing  love  passages, 
and  its  variety  of  characters,  captivating  or  engaging  humorous 
or  saturnine,  villains,  rascals,  and  men  of  good  will.  A  tale  strong 
and  interesting  in  plot,  faithful  and  vivid  as  a  picture  of  wild 
mountain  life,  and  in  its  characterization  full  of  warmth  and  glow. 

A  MILLION  A  MINUTE,  By  Hudson  Douglas 

With  illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 

Has  the  catchiest  of  titles,  and  it  is  a  ripping  good  tale  from 
Chapter  I  to  Finis — no  weighty  problems  to  be  solved,  but  just  a 
fine  running  story,  full  of  exciting  incidents,  that  never  seemed 
strained  or  improbable.  It  is  a  dainty  love  yarn  involving  three 
men  and  a  girl.  There  is  not  a  dull  or  trite  situation  in  the  book. 

liROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publiahers,      -      -      NEW  YORK 


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tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE,  By  Mary  Roberts  Reinhart 

With  illustrations  by  Lester  Ralph. 

In  an  extended  notice  the  New  York  Sun  says :  "  To  readers 
who  care  for  a  really  good  detective  story  '  The  Circular  Stair- 
case '  can  be  recommended  without  reservation.  The  Philadelphia 
Record  declares  that  "  The  Circular  Staircase  "  deserves  the  laur- 
els for  thrills,  for  weirdness  and  things  unexplained  and  inexplicable. 

THE  RED  YEAR,  By  Louu  Tracy 

"  Mr.  Tracyjgives  by  far  the  most  realistic  and  impressive  pic- 
tures of  the  horrors  and  heroisms  of  the  Indian  Mutiny  that 
has  been  available  in  any  book  of  the  kind  *  *  *  -There  has  not 
been  in  modern  times  in  the  history  of  any  land  scenes  so  fear- 
f  al,  so  picturesque,  so  dramatic,  and  Mr.  Tracy  draws  them  as 
with  the  pencil  of  a  Verestschagin  of  the  pen  of  a  Sienkiewics." 

ARMS  AND  THE  WOMAN,  By  Harold  MacGrath 

With  inlay  cover  in  colors  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
The  story  is  a  blending  of  the  romance  and  adventure  of  the 
middle  ages  with  nineteenth  century  men  and  women ;  and  they  are 
creations  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  not  mere  pictures  of  past  centuries. 
The  story  is  about  Jack  Winthrop,  a  newspaper  man.  Mr.  Mac- 
Grath's  finest  bit  of  character  drawing  is  seen  in  Hillars,  the  bro- 
ken down  newspaper  man,  and  Jack's  chum. 

LOVE  IS  THE  SUM  OF  IT  ALL,  By  Geo.  Gary  Eggleston 

With  illustrations  by  Hermann  Heyer. 

In  this  "  plantation  romance  "  Mr.  Eggleston  has  resumed  the 
manner  and  method  that  made  his  "  Dorothy  South"  one  of  the 
most  famous  books  of  its  time. 

There  are  three  tender  love  stories  embodied  in  it,  and  two 
unusually  interesting  heroines,  utterly  unlike  each  other,  but  each 
possessed  of  a  peculiar  fascination  which  wins  and  holds  the  read- 
er's sympathy.  A  pleasing  vein  of  gentle  humor  runs  through  the 
work,  but  the  "  sum  of  it  all "  is  an  intensely  sympathetic  love  story. 

HEARTS  AND  THE  CROSS,    By  Harold  Morton  Cramer 

With  illustrations  by  Harold  Matthews  Brett. 
The  hero  is  an  unconventional  preacher  who  follows  the  line  of 
the  Man  of  Galilee,  associating  with  the  lowly,  and  working  for 
them  in  the  ways  that  may  best  serve  them.  He  is  not  recognized 
at  his  real  value  except  by  the  one  woman  who  saw  clearly.  Their 
love  story  is  one  of  the  refreshing  things  in  recent  fiction. 

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size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra- 
tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA, 

By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin    With  illustrations  by  F.  C.  Yohn 

Additional  episodes  in  the  girlhood  of  the  delightful  little  hero- 
ine at  Riverboro  which  were  not  included  in  the  story  of  "  Rebecca 
of  Sunnybrook  Farm,"  and  they  are  as  characteristic  and  delight- 
ful as  any  part  of  that  famous  story.  Rebecca  is  as  distinct  a  crea- 
tion in  the  second  volume  as  in  the  first. 

THE  SILVER  BUTTERFLY,  By  Mrs.  Wilson  Woodrow 

With  illustrations  in  colors  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

A  story  of  love  and  mystery,  full  of  color,  charm,  and  vivacity, 
dealing  with  a  South  American  mine,  rich  beyond  dreams,  and  of 
a  New  York  maiden,  beyond  dreams  beautiful — both  known  as 
the  Silver  Butterfly.  Well  named  is  The  Silver  Butterfly  !  There 
could  not  be  a  better  symbol  of  the  darting  swiftness,  the  eager 
love  plot,  the  elusive  mystery  and  the  flashing  wit. 

BEATRIX  OF  CLARE,  By  John  Reed  Scott 

With  illustrations  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

A  spirited  and  irresistibly  attractive  historical  romance  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  boldly  conceived  and  skilfully  carried  out.  In 
the  hero  and«  heroine  Mr.  Scott  has  created  a  pair  whose  mingled 
emotions  and  and  alternating  hopes  and  fears  will  find  a  welcome 
in  many  lovers  of  the  present  hour.  Beatrix  is  a  fascinting  daugh- 
ter of  Eve. 

A  LITTLE  BROTHER  OF  THE  RICH, 

By  Joseph  Medill  Patterson 

Frontispiece  by  Hazel  Martyn  Trudeau,  and  illustrations  by 
Walter  Dean  Goldbeck. 

Tells  the  story  of  the  idle  rich,  and  is  a  vivid  and  truthful  pic- 
ture of  society  and  stage  life  written  by  one  who  is  himself  a  con- 
spicuous member  of  the  Western  millionaire  class.  Full  of  grim 
satire,  caustic  wit  and  flashing  epigrams.  "  Is  sensational  to  a  de- 
gree in  its  theme,  daring  in  its  treatment,  lashing  society  as  it  was 
never  scourged  before.  — New  York  Sun. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publishers,     -      -      NEW  YORK 


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Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper— most  of  them  with  illustra- 
tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  SHUTTLE,  By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

With  inlay  cover  in  colors  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 
This  great  international  romance  relates  the  story  of  an  Ameri- 
can girl  who.  in  rescuing  her  sister  from  the  ruins  of  her  marriage 
to  an  Englishman  of  title,  displays  splendid  qualities  of  courage, 
tact  and  restraint.  As  a  study  of  American  womanhood  of  modern 
times,  the  character  of  Bettina  Vanderpoel  stands  alone  in  litera- 
ture. As  a  love  story,  the  account  of  her  experience  is  magnificent. 
The  masterly  handling,  the  glowing  style  of  the  book,  give  it  a 
literary  rank  to  which  very  few  modern  novels  have  attained. 

THE  MAKING  OF  A  MARCHIONESS, 

By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

Illustrated  with  half  tone"engravings  by  Charles  D.  Williams. 

With  initial  letters,  tail-pieces,  decorative  borders.    Beautifully 

printed,  and  daintily  bound,  and  boxed. 

A  delightful  novel  in  the  author's  most  charming  vein.  The 
scene  is  laid  in  an  English  country  house,  where  an  amiable  Eng- 
lish nobleman  is  the  centre'of  matrimonial  interest  on  the  part  of 
both  the  English  and  Americans  present. 

^Graceful,  sprightly,  almost  delicious  in  its  dialogue  and  action. 
It  is  a  book  about  which  one  is  tempted  to  write  ecstatically. 

THE  METHODS  OF  LADY  WALDERHURST, 

By  Francis  Hodgson  Burnett 

A  Companion  Volume  to  "  The  Making;  of  •  Marchioness." 

With  illustrations  by  Charles  D.  Williams,  and  with  initial 
letters,  tail-pieces,  and  borders,  by  A.  K.  Womrath.  Beautifully 
printed  and  daintily  bound,  and  boxed. 

"  The  Methods  of  Lady  Walderhurst "  is  a  delightful  story 
which  combines  the  sweetness  of  "  The  Making  of  a  Marchioness, 
with  the  dramatic  qualities  of  "  A  Lady  of  Quality."    Lady  Wal- 
derhurst is  one  of  the  most  charming  characters  in  modern  fiction. 

VAYENNE,  By  Percy  Brebner 

With  illustrations  by  E.  Fuhr. 

This  romance  like  the  author's  The  Princess  Maritza  is  charged 
to  the  brim  with  adventure.  Sword  play,  bloodshed,  justice  grown 
the  multitude,  sacrifice,  and  romance,  mingle  in  dramatic  episodes 
that  are  born,  flourish,  and  pass  away  on  every  page. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publishers,      -      -      NEW  YORK 


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size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra- 
tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

CONJUROR'S  HOUSE,  By  Stewart  Edward  White 

Dramatized  under  the  tiU«  of  "  THE  CALL  OF  THE  NORTH." 

Illustrated  from  Photographs  of  Scenes  from  the  Play. 
Conjuror's  House  is  a  Hudson  Bay  trading  port  where  the  Fur 
Trading  Company  tolerated  no  rivalry.  Trespassers  were  sen- 
tenced to  "  La  Longue  Traverse  " — winch  meant  official  death. 
How  Ned  Trent  entered  the  territory,  took  la  lon^ue  traverse, 
and  the  journey  down  the  river  of  life  with  the  factor's  only 
daughter  is  admirably  told.  It  is  a  warm,  vivid,  and  dramatic  story, 
and  depicts  the  tenderness  and  mystery  of  a  woman's  heart. 

ARIZONA  NIGHTS,  By  Stewart  Edward  White. 

With  illustrations  by  N.  C.  Wyeth,  and  beautiful  inlay  cover. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phase  of  the  life  of 

the  ranch,  plains  and  desert,  and  all,  taken  together,  forming  a 

single  sharply-cut  picture  of  life  in  the  far  Southwest.    All  the 

tonic  of  the  West  is  in  this  masterpiece  of  Stewart  Edward  White. 

THE  MYSTERY, 

By  Stewart  Edward  White  and  Samuel  Hopkins  Adam* 

With  illustrations  by  Will  Crawford. 

For  breathless  interest,  concentrated  excitement  and  extraordi- 
narily good  story  telling  on  all  counts,  no  more  completely  satisfy- 
ing romance  has  appeared  for  years.  It  has  been  voted  the  beat 
story  of  its  kind  since  Treasure  Island. 

LIGHT-FINGERED  GENTRY.     By  David  Graham  Phillip* 

With  illustrations. 

Mr.  Phillips  has  chosen  the  inside  workings  of  the  great  insurance 
companies  as  his  field  of  battle;  the  salons  of  the  great  Fifth 
Avenue  mansions  as  the  antechambers  of  his  field  of  intrigue; 
and  the  two  things  which  every  natural,  big  man  desires,  love  and 
success,  as  the  goal  of  his  leading  character.  The  book  is  full  of 
practical  philosophy,  which  makes  it  worth  careful  reading. 

THE  SECOND  GENERATION,    By  David  Graham  Phillips 

With  illustrations  by  Fletcher  C.  Ramson,  and  inlay  cover. 
"  It  is  a  story  that  proves  how,  in  some  cases,  the  greatest  harm 
a  rich  man  may  do  his  children,  is  to  leave  them  his  money.  "A 
strong,  wholspme  story  of  contemporary  American  life — thought- 
ful, well-conceived  and  admirably  written ;  forceful,  sincere,  and 
true ;  and  intensely  interesting." — Boston  Herald. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publishers,     -     -     NEW  YORK 


BRILLIANT  AND  SPIRITED  NOVELS 

AGNES  AND  EGERTON  CASTLE 

Handsomely  bound  in  cloth.     Price,  75  cents  per  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  JENNICO.     Being  a  Memoir  of  Captain  Basil 
Jennico. 

"  What  separates  it  from  most  books  of  its  class  is  its  distinction 
of  manner,  its  unusual  grace  of  diction,  its  delicacy  of  touch,  and  the 
fervent  charm  of  its  love  passages.  It  is  a  very  attractive  piece  of 
romantic  fiction  relying  for  its  effect  upon  character  rather  than  inci- 
dent, and  upon  vivid  dramatic  presentation."— 7^*  Dial.  "  A  stirring, 
brilliant  and  dashing  story." — The  Oatlook. 

THE  SECRET  ORCHARD.   Illustrated  by  Charles  D.  Williams. 

The  "  Secret  Orchard  "  is  set  in  the  midst  of  the  ultra  modern  society. 
The  scene  is  in  Paris,  but  most  of  the  characters  are  English  speak- 
ing. The  story  was  dramatized  in  London,  and  in  it  the  Kendalk 
scored  a  great  theatrical  success. 

"  Artfully  contrived  and  full  of  romantic  charm  *  *  *  it  pos- 
sesses ingenuity  of  incident,  a  figurative  designation  of  the  unhal- 
lowed scenes  in  which  unlicensed  love  accomplishes  and  wrecks  faith 
and  happiness." — Athenaeum. 

YOUNG  APRIL.     With  illustrations  by  A.  B.  WenzelL 

"  It  is  everything  that  a  good  romance  should  be,  and  it  carries 
about  it  an  air  of  distinction  both  rare  and  delightful." — Chicago 
Tribune.  "  With  regret  one  turns  to  the  last  page  of  this  delighttul 
novel,  so  delicate  in  its  romance,  so  brilliant  in  its  episodes,  so  spark- 
ling in  its  art,  and  so  exquisite  in  its  diction. " —  Worcester  Spy. 

FLOWER  O'  THE  ORANGE.    With  frontispiece. 

We  have  learned  to  expect  from  these  fertile  authors  novels  grace- 
ful in  form,  brisk  in  movement,  and  romantic  in  conception.  This 
carries  the  reader  back  to  the  days  of  the  bewigged  and  beruffled 
gallants  of  the  seventeenth  century  and  tells  him  of  feats  of  arms  and 
adventures  in  love  as  thrilling  and  picturesque,  yet  delicate,  as  the 
utmost  seeker  of  romance  may  ask. 

MY  MERRY  ROCKHURST.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  E.  Becher. 

In  the  eight  stories  of  a  courtier  of  King  Charles  Second,  which  are 
here  gathered  together,  the  Castles  are  at  their  best,  reviving  all  the 
fragrant  charm  of  those  books,  like  The  Pride  ofjennico,  in  which 
they  first  showed  an  instinct,  amounting  to  genius,  for  sunny  romances. 
The  book  is  absorbing  *  *  *  and  is  as  spontaneous  in  feeling  as  it  is 
artistic  in  execution." — New  York  Tribune. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


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